This House Is Haunted
by Fuzzy Peaches1
Summary: Short follow-up to Something Wicked. Left with a lot of unanswered questions, everyone's favourite fuss-budget Teresa the assistant tries to understand her place in the mystery left behind by Valerie Turner. Takes place before the denouement of "Something Wicked." Shorter, lighter, definitely fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Follow up to _Something Wicked._ I'd recommend that one first otherwise you kinda know the ending. This is for SOA loving mom, by request. :)**

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Teresa checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. The black dress was elegant, covered her shoulder to knee, and the only thing she had that was suitable for a funeral. She hadn't been to one since the last of her grandparents passed away when she was eighteen, and that was almost eight years ago.

She was incredibly nervous, and it wasn't just that she was still relatively new to funerals. She was headed to a place she'd never been, and a place she'd never thought she'd be caught dead in.

She checked her hair one last time in the small mirror in her foyer before opening her front door. She caught the young man on the other side by surprise. Ethan had his hand raised, about to knock, and her sudden movement caught him by surprise and he jumped as much as she did.

"Ethan!" she gasped, hand to her chest. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I came by … to talk. Are you going out?"

Teresa nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to a funeral. My boss's … boyfriend died."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah, we heard about that. Is she okay?"

Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since the day it happened. I want to go to be there for _her _though."

Ethan let his worry show. "You sure you want to go there? You know where it is, right?"

She bristled at that. She was leaving, wasn't she? Did he think she'd head out, driving around, hoping to find a funeral to crash?

"Of course I know where it is, Ethan," she said, exasperated. "Did you come here for a reason?"

"I just hoped to … talk. But you're busy. I'll come by another time."

Teresa nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Sure. That would be fine."

He nodded, gave a hopeful smile, then wandered down her hallway to the exit. She closed the door, a weird move but she let him leave the building first. She'd liked him, wanted to date him, at first anyway. As the weeks had gone by he was frustratingly … a gentleman. One night they'd been kissing heavily on her couch, but then he suddenly got up, excusing himself with an early morning meeting as his reason to bolt.

Teresa hated to admit it, but she wished he would just _make the first move_ already. She never would; she was always too reserved, but if she was giving into someone else's coercion it seemed less … naughty somehow. But he was taking far too long to make up his mind.

When she'd asked him if there was anything wrong with her, asking him why he didn't seem attracted to her, if there was anything wrong with her, he'd told her there _was. _He hadn't thought she was _that _kind of woman. Then he hadn't called for weeks, and she hadn't seen him. Until just now.

Teresa told herself he wasn't right for her. For all his outward perfection, it turned out he was a prudish asshole. And for _her _to see someone as a prude it _had _to be a whole new level of _prude_.

Working for a couples' therapist had really loosened her up, apparently.

Teresa waited five minutes, then made her way down the apartment corridor to the stairwell and out into the parking lot. She climbed behind the wheel of her '97 Corolla, asking herself if she was crazy for about the fifteenth time that day.

She had no business walking into the hang-out of some motorcycle gang. But for Doctor Turner she would go, and for her alone. It had nothing to do with the fact that the doctor's friend, that gruff-sounding Scottish one, had called to tell her when and where the funeral was. He even had the gall to _tell _her to be there, not giving her the option to say no.

"She'll want to have friends there, and you're the only one she's got. So you'll be there." Teresa had actually pulled away from the phone and stared at the handset, wondering if she'd heard right.

Teresa would have gone anyway. While the deceased was mostly a stranger to her, she knew funerals were for those left behind, not the life they were bidding farewell to. For reasons that Teresa couldn't understand her boss was very fond of this man, so she started the car and pointed it to the one garage in town she'd never trust with her auto repairs.

She parked on the street, not wanting to pull right into the lot in case family was parking closer to the building. Wasn't that usually how it worked? The closer spots were reserved for immediate family? She had no idea. She decided she'd just walk.

At the gates she paused, unsure what to do next. The lot was packed with people milling about, most of the room taken up by rows and rows of motorcycles. She had no idea there were this many people involved with that gang. It increased her discomfort.

She pulled at the skirt of her dress, wondering if she shouldn't go back to the car and just drive home. No one was dressed up. They were all in jeans or terribly shorts skirts. She tried to ignore the stares from the women that hung around in clumps; they all had the appearance of being_ amused_ by her. It didn't help her nerves.

_Just go home_, she told herself. _Find Valerie, give your condolences and go home_.

She started following the flow of traffic towards the building at the far end of the yard that had the frightening Sons of Anarchy banner on it. She could feel her stomach clench the closer she got, and when she heard someone say her name she turned, the relief instant that she had an excuse to delay actually entering the building.

She squinted into the sunny throng of people, trying to figure out who here possibly knew her name.

"It's Teresa, right?"

She blinked a couple times, then commanded her voice to cooperate. "Umm, yes. Hi."

She knew this man, this member of the Sons of Anarchy. He'd been to Valerie's office before, and she'd seen him once in her boss's home as well. She had no idea what his real name was, but he was introduced to her as Juice. As the sight of him she felt a weird flutter in her chest, but she tamped it down. He wasn't smiley today; he looked appropriately upset. But he offered her a head nod and a friendly enough smile so she grabbed it like a life line.

"Juice, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad you came. Val's already inside. I don't know if I can get you in to see her. She's … she's pretty upset."

"Oh no. How … how did it happen?"

He looked uncomfortable, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before scanning the crowd around them. "Can't really talk about it. But … she was there."

Teresa knew her mouth dropped open. "She was? Oh God."

He nodded, understanding her change in concern. "Yeah. She got to say goodbye though."

Teresa felt the prickle in her nose. "Well, that's something I suppose. Where should I go?"

"Follow me. I can get you in the clubhouse, maybe we can snag her on the way out. The service is starting right away. Come on. Grab my hand. I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He snagged her wrist more than her hand, but she let herself be led into the dim interior of the "clubhouse." Her nose wrinkled immediately – it stunk of stale beer and other terrible odours she couldn't quite place. She ignored the thrill of the warm hand encircling her wrist for the most part; it was terribly inappropriate given where they were.

Juice found her a spot at the bar, making sure she got onto the stool with her dignity intact. The heels and skirt offered less help, but he slid next to her, leaning on the polished wood. "Hope this is okay. I'll stick with you."

She was surprised. "No, no. I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

Juice leaned over, closer to her ear, and she could smell the aftershave on him as well as the leather vest he wore. "No offense Teresa, but I think some of the other people around here might make you uncomfortable. It may be a funeral, but you're still a chick and if you're on your own you're fair game."

She leaned back and blinked at him in surprised. "Are you serious?"

He had to smile at that and she felt the effect of it across her skin. It was wide, bright, and brought out his dimples. She swallowed, wondering when she'd become such a weirdo that she'd check out a man at a funeral.

"Sometimes when someone you know dies it makes people want to … live a little," he left his explanation at that, and she tore her eyes away from his adorable face to scan the rest of the room. The thought of any of these unwashed oafs so much as thinking that way about her made her squirm.

When the room fell silent she knew a service of some kind had started. Mostly it was raised voices from a separate room where the doors were flung wide open, and she heard a few stories about the deceased she could have lived without hearing. She was offered a shot glass of whiskey, which she declined before Juice tilted his head, letting her know that was a _faux pas_. She took it, cringing as the smell hit her nose.

"To Tig!" someone bellowed. The entire room echoed it back and dozens of people downed their shot in one motion. She got hers halfway down and set the glass back on the bar. The guy on the other side of her grabbed it. She watched, open-mouthed, as he drank from the same glass as she just had.

"Can't waste good booze, sweetheart," the guy mumbled, leaning close enough she could smell it on him. "That would have really pissed Tig off."

She leaned away just as the entire room got to their feet. She copied, not knowing what the hell was coming next. Juice squeezed her elbow. "I'll be right back. Stay right here, okay?"

She nodded, ridiculously grateful to have him taking care of her. He nodded once then headed into the back room, where she could see more SAMCRO vests and the casket. She swallowed, trying to bring back to her mind the man that was now lying inside.

Alexander Trager had terrified her. Now that she thought back on it, she was pretty sure he'd done it on purpose. He had a way of sizing a person up that was incredibly unnerving. She'd never known a person that was so comfortable just _staring_. One moment you thought he was going to tear your clothes off, the next moment you suspected the voices were telling him to strangle you.

When Valerie had ended his treatments Teresa had been so relieved. And when her boss had confirmed she was _seeing _this psychopath Teresa had almost fallen over. Valerie had been a lot like _her_, so she thought. Well dressed, put together and organized. Friendly but not overly so.

Dating someone like _that_.

Teresa had taken to seeing her boss in a whole new light, and she'd started to suspect she didn't have the woman as neatly pegged as she thought. When the shooting had happened in her home and Valerie had been in the hospital with a bullet wound Teresa had to see Trager in a different way as well.

She'd never forget passing through the double doors, carrying a large daisy-filled bouquet, stopping outside of Valerie's room at the sight of the man, dressed nearly all in black, that black leather Grim Reaper vest sucking all the light out of the hallway. She'd wanted to turn around and run, but he'd pinned her in place with his cold blue stare and she'd stayed put.

Teresa couldn't say why she'd held her ground as he approached. It was likely the worry; it etched the lines on his face even deeper, and she had felt a lump rise in her throat because of it. He cared for her friend, it couldn't be more obvious. She wasn't an experiment for _him,_ nor was he a walk on the wild side for Valerie. They meant something to each other.

Trager had thanked her for coming, telling her no one was being allowed in to see her yet.

Teresa had been disappointed, staring down at the flowers and wondering when she should come back. He'd held out hands heavy with silver rings that shook slightly.

"I'll make sure she gets those, don't worry," he'd muttered, and she'd handed them over because he seemed to want something to hold onto. "And thanks for coming, Teresa."

He'd used her name, instead of calling her _Blondie_. And his voice had been entirely different. He spoke like a normal person. He was capable of more than just being really, _really_ scary.

It didn't make her want to invite him over for dinner, but it gave her just enough evidence to pause before judging people. Most of the time.

She caught sight of Valerie then, being led through the room by the Scottish Son who'd been at the house when Valerie got shot. He had a hand around her waist tight, and Teresa felt her eyes tingle with tears. He was clearly holding her up. And Valerie herself looked destroyed by all these recent events.

She was pale, drawn. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and it was the first time Teresa could remember seeing her without modest make-up and her brown-red hair done. It was left to hang around her face in layers, not touched since a shower that morning was Teresa's guess. Her friend looked beyond ruined right then. Teresa felt her heart break for her.

She _did _tear up, covering her mouth with her hand, the other clutching the pendant on her necklace at her chest. It hadn't seemed like a _raw wound_ until Teresa saw Valerie in the flesh. She tried to move through the crowd to get to her, but she couldn't get anywhere close until they were nearly out the doors. Valerie turned her head suddenly, and Teresa stopped, knowing she'd seen her.

Valerie stared at her, and Teresa nodded, letting her know she was here should the woman need anything. At least, she hoped the nod conveyed all that.

Valerie's eyes were bland and vacant. Usually they were green and lively with a smile all their own. Not anymore. They were flat.

Teresa choked on a sob. _She'd really loved him, _Teresa realized. _She'd been completely in love with him._

All the more tragic when Teresa remembered the man's face at the hospital again, worried sick about Valerie to the point where his stone-cold nerves were shot and his hands were shaking.

Her friend turned from her, no expression on her face. The Scottish man with the terrifying facial scars paused next to her. Teresa caught his eye and he raised his chin to acknowledge she was there. Had she ever actually been told his name? She didn't think so. He had a death grip on Valerie. She really wasn't walking on her own willpower.

Teresa felt the tears fall, and the Scott went back to the business of escorting his ward from the building. Then she had to scurry out of the way, the Sons of Anarchy bearing down on her, carrying the casket out of the clubhouse. They pallbearers all had tears in their eyes. Teresa had to turn away, not wanting to see these hardened criminal-types crying. She didn't know what she'd been expecting from this funeral, but she was ashamed to admit the outpouring of emotion was a complete surprise.

Her stool at the bar was still empty. She climbed back onto it, wiping her eyes away and getting herself under control.

Some of the women had been left behind in the clubhouse, and Teresa tried not to eavesdrop but she couldn't. They looked trashy and the more they spoke the more she realized they _were_ trashy. Especially a cluster at the end of the bar, standing on high hells, fluffing their hair and reapplying lipstick. They were the kind of women Teresa truly felt sorry for.

"All for that little piece of white-bread pussy, from what I hear."

"I don't even see what's so special about her."

"Likely her magical vagina."

"I don't know why you're all so depressed. That guy freaked me out. He was into some sick shit."

"Oh please. You were always the first raising your hand when he was scanning the room."

"Bitch."

"I don't see what's so special about her is all."

"And now _Chibs _is panting after that, too. Give me a break."

"Hey!" The voice behind the bar was loud and Teresa jumped. A man in a vest had been pouring himself a drink and he'd heard the girl talk going on. Teresa tried her best to look apart from it.

One of the women had jumped as much as Teresa had, then giggled because of it and leaned over the bar towards this huge, scary-looking biker. Teresa wanted to crawl under her chair at the sight of him but apparently he was just what this kind of woman liked.

"What's up, Pistol? You ready to draw?"

He pointed at her over the slab of oak between them. "That _pussy, _as you put it, is Tig's old lady. Show some fucking respect."

Teresa was stunned to hear this ape defending Valerie. It made her evaluate him better. Long shaggy hair, wide shoulders, dark brown eyes and an unkempt beard. Scary-looking but still …

The woman scoffed at his declaration. "She doesn't have a crow on her."

"Another week and she would have. You see this black eye fading away? This broken nose? Tig did that to me for pushing up on that piece of ass."

Another one of the women with hair so red it was never found in nature laughed at that. "I heard Tig's _old lady_ broke your nose."

The redhead got a warning look, which made her drop her gaze to her feet. _Pistol_ kept his voice cold and calm. "She sure as shit _was _his old lady. You learn your place before you get hurt, honey." He looked away from his manners lesson to catch Teresa staring. His face went from pissed to pleasant in a wink. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Teresa looked around, confirming he _was _addressing her. "Nothing. I'm fine. T-thank you anyway."

Now _everyone _was staring at her. She got up, heading for the door without another word. When Juice returned she almost wept with relief. There must have been panic on her face because he immediately frowned, checking out the assembled company before asking, "Are you okay?

She nodded. "I'm fine. I just think I should leave."

Juice nodded, offering her a half-hearted smile. "Thanks for coming, Teresa. She's out of it right now, but I know Valerie appreciates it."

Teresa felt the tears again. "I didn't know," she gasped. "I didn't know they were so in love."

Poor Juice looked completely lost as she broke down. He rubbed her arm slightly, saying softly "It's okay, Teresa. He didn't show a lot to us either, and there was only so much she _could_ say to anyone else. Don't feel bad." She wiped at her eyes, nodding. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."

Teresa felt better out in the fresh air, and once they stood by the curb she felt herself. She'd never felt more out of place than she had inside that building. She was able to breathe again.

Juice was smiling at her like he could sense her relief. "Well, we'll be seeing you around, Teresa."

She nodded, returning the smile and unlocking the door. Cute as he was she wanted no part of that world. "We'll see," was her only reply.

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**So maybe this chapter wasn't _entirely _fluffy but it'll get there. I promise. Reviews and comments always welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

The help wanted ads stretched out before her on the kitchen table like a map of guilt and abandonment. Teresa felt terribly traitorous looking for work but it had been a full week since Valerie had closed the practice, and this time Teresa had no idea if it was temporary or not. All she _did _know was that her bills weren't stopping.

She printed off a few resume copies, then changed her cover letters to reflect the specific positions she was applying for. While she waited for them to print off she helped herself to another glass of pinot grigio. _Why not? _she reasoned. It wasn't like she had work in the morning.

While she was pouring there was a tentative knock on her front door, and she put the bottle down wondering who in the world would be visiting her at this hour on a weeknight. She checked the peephole first, and was relieved to see it was only Ethan.

She opened the door, crossing her arms. "Ethan? What are you doing here this late?"

He shrugged, hands in his jeans pockets. "I just … I miss you, Teresa."

She leaned on the door jamb. "Really? I thought you weren't interested anymore."

He sighed. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was a shit to say it."

"Then _why'd _you say it?"

He cast her a pleading look. "Can I please come in?"

She rolled her eyes and stepped back. "Okay. But it's getting late, Ethan."

He shut the door behind himself and shrugged off his jacket. She grabbed her wine off the counter and sat back on the sofa, plopping her laptop back on her knees. It made for bad hospitality but for some reason Ethan showing up unannounced was incredibly annoying to her.

"Looking for a job?" he said lightly, sitting on the sofa next to her, perched on the edge, not wanting to intrude on her space too much.

"Yeah. I don't know if Val's going to want to open up again soon, and I've got bills to pay so …" she let it trail off.

"That's too bad. How … how was the funeral?"

She stared at him, and he knew it had been a stupid question.

"Sorry. How _else _would a funeral possibly be?" he self-scolded so she let it slide.

"Say what you came here to say, Ethan."

"Okay. I've missed you, Teresa. And I know I left things … bad between us."

She felt herself flinch at the words. "You made me feel terrible about myself, Ethan. When a girl's standing there, asking why you don't _want_ her, implying she's a slut is pretty harsh."

"I know." He pushed his hands through his hair. "But the things is … hell, I don't even know how to put it."

"Just tell me the truth or get out." The wine made her blunt, apparently.

"I'm a virgin."

Teresa stopped mid-keystroke. "What?"

He wouldn't look at her. He was staring at his hands. "I'm a virgin, Teresa. I just never got around to … taking care of that."

She knew she was staring at him, and he must have felt it. He caught her gaze, then sighed and rubbed his face. "Shit. That's why I didn't want to tell you. It's weird, isn't it?"

She put a hand on his shoulder, a touch of relief joining the flood of surprise she'd felt first. "It's not weird. It's … _unusual,"_ she admitted gently. "But it's far from weird, Ethan."

"Don't think I'm being judgemental, but … how many guys have you been with?"

Teresa inhaled, then realized he was just being earnest. "Two. One was my high school boyfriend, we were together for five years. The second was a boy I went to college with. We were together for three years."

Ethan nodded. "The girls I went with … they were always waiting for _me _to make the move, right? And I was trying to be respectful, then they'd all cheat on me with someone else. Someone that _would _make that first move. I was too shy. I respected the girls I dated. Then the older I got … the less comfortable I was being with anyone."

This was the indecisive person that had slowly been driving her crazy. Calculated conversation, controlled kisses and contact. She was glad he was comfortable talking to her, but she still doubted he'd act on his impulses to the point of being able to freely make love to her. Just let go and …

She blinked at the thought, trying to remember if _she'd _ever fully let go. That kind of abandon made her nervous, come to think of it.

"Thank you for telling me this, Ethan. And it's nothing to be ashamed of; it's really not. Now I understand everything better. Thank you, really."

He was hopeful, half-turning on the cushion to face her. "Can I take you out to dinner Friday? I mean it, Teresa. I really miss you."

He was a terribly handsome man; sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes. Nicely tanned from the golf course, and he made a nice living.

She found herself smiling back at him. "Okay, let's do dinner on Friday. That'll be nice."

He looked so relieved. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then got to his feet. "Okay. I'll pick you up … six o'clock?"

She smiled up at him. "Sure. That's perfect."

"I'll let myself out. And thanks again."

Once he was gone she grabbed her wine glass and downed the whole thing. This was either a good idea or one she'd regret.

…

Armed with fresh resumes the next morning, Teresa headed out to shake hands and get herself employed. She dressed with a light summer skirt, a sleeveless blouse with a sweater cardigan and strappy sandals. It was somewhat professional without trying too hard, allowing for the high temperatures the weather man was calling for.

She checked her mail before heading out; a large manila folder took up her entire compartment. She pulled it out, ripping the top open then shutting the mail box. She pulled the pages out far enough to read the top of the top page then frowned. What the hell …

Transfer of title. Private sale of home. Seller was Valerie Turner, buyer was … her.

She flipped through the papers, seeing the tags from a lawyer indicating where she was supposed to sign with a witness present. Then … she'd own Valerie's house? At the bottom of the envelope she could feel a key ring as well.

What the hell was this about?

She returned to her apartment, picked up the phone and called Valerie' s home number, confused by the recorded message saying the number wasn't in service. Teresa tried the office number, then Val's cell. They all had the same story to tell her; not in service.

Teresa got in her vehicle and decided she needed to make _one _stop before starting the job hunt. She headed for Valerie's, knocked on the house door and waited. No one was home. She tried to see in the front windows but the blinds were all tightly closed.

Something felt very, very strange here.

She shook the keys out of the then tried one in the front door. It worked. Well, if this was her house now …

She stepped into the foyer, noting that it smelled slightly stuffy. Like the windows hadn't been opened in a few days and it had been sitting in the sun without a breeze.

And no one had been here that whole time.

She closed the door behind her, uneasy to be there alone. A lot of terrible things had happened in this house. If she was superstitious she'd say it was cursed or something. The attack, a shooting, and then the killing of Alexander Trager right on the front lawn.

She walked through the kitchen, opening cupboards. Plates and small appliances were all here. The fridge was empty except for a box of baking soda.

She walked down the hall to the main bathroom. No towels on the racks, new rolls of toilet paper left in the vanity and nothing else.

The guest room looked the same as it always had.

The master bedroom was the proof. The bed was stripped, linens folded on top. She moved to the dresser and pulled open a drawer, already knowing it was empty. The closet, the same. The en suite as barren as a hotel bathroom.

Valerie Turner had left town, fairly quickly.

Teresa walked down the hall with new purpose, yanking open the door that connected the living quarters to the home office. Her desk was there, cabinet drawers were empty. The door to Doctor Turner's office stood open for the first time ever. Her files were empty as well. A note just said: _I'll keep the patient files safe. I will be in touch when I'm settled. You can contact me for files if you need them._

Teresa turned on that very spot, her heart starting to race. Valerie had fled. But from what exactly?

Teresa pulled out the papers again. There was a witness to Valerie's signature, and she could barely read it. But other than _her, _who did Valerie know?

The papers were stuffed back in the envelope. She resolved to drop her resumes _after_ getting to the bottom of this whole issue of Valerie's house.

Teresa felt a bit bolder driving into the Teller-Morrow lot this time. It was a work day, after all. The garage doors were open, there were no men in leather vests walking around. They wore overalls and were mechanics as far as she could tell.

She parked in a row of spaces next to the building marked _Office _and climbed out carefully in her skirt, clutching the envelope to her chest. She cast her eyes around for someone she recognized, but all these men looked foreign to her.

There was a terrifying woman working there, one she'd seen stop by Val's office before; Gemma Morrow. So she bypassed the office and headed for the garage bays.

Teresa paused in front of a 4x4 truck that had its hood wide open, a man leaning over the grill to crank something inside she wouldn't have been able to identify. Waiting until he was done, she straightened up before clearing her throat.

He spun quickly and she jumped back. It was the Scottish fellow that had been holding Valerie upright following the memorial, the same one who'd saved Valerie from a thug on the street one day _and _told Teresa what to do when her boss had been shot. He was an older man with long hair and deep scars running across both cheeks. His eyes pegged her right away and she felt herself lose a bit of confidence, even though there was no reason to think he'd hurt her.

"What can I do for 'ya? Teresa, in't it?"

Teresa nodded. She'd almost forgotten he had that accent. "Sorry. I didn't know who else to ask and …" she was pulling the papers out of the envelope and keeping an eye on him at the same time. As she did so she caught the slightest twitch at the side of his left eye, like he recognized the envelope.

"These came in the mail today. There's a witness signature here. It has to be someone from … _here_," she ended lamely. "Do you know who … _Fillip Telford _is?"

He cleared his throat and nodded. "It's your lucky day, Blondie. It's me."

She was surprised. "Oh. I don't … I don't understand why I got this."

He wiped his hands in a filthy rag, avoiding her eyes. "She wanted 'ya to have something as a severance."

Teresa frowned. "She gave me her mortgage as a severance?"

He shot her a look that shamed her slightly. "She gave 'ya her down payment and equity, actually. You take over her payments or you sell it. Either way you're coming out ahead, Blondie."

She nodded. "Sorry, sorry. You're right." She paused, then gathered up her courage for the next question. "Do you know where she went?"

The clenching in his jaw was unmistakable, and he turned around muttering "No" darkly, not inviting further comment from her.

Teresa nodded, tucking her papers away. "Well, thank you," she said weakly and turned to leave.

"Wait."

She turned back, shielding her face from the sun coming over the edge of the garage. Fillip Telford came forward, looking slightly contrite. "If I hear from her or find out where she went, I'll let 'ya know. All right?"

Teresa just nodded.

"But if you hear word first, you tell me."

Teresa swallowed. "Is she in … trouble with anyone? I don't want to get her in trouble."

He sighed, wiping his cheek and leaving grease behind. "She's not in trouble. We're not out to get her if that's what you're worried about. She wouldn't have had me sign that if she was. I'm just - _we're_ worried about her."

Teresa tilted her head at his quick correction on who had the most concern for Valerie. She studied his face, but he didn't give much away there. It had all been in his voice.

"If I hear where she is or get any word I'll find you," she promised, knowing he caught her implication that he and he alone would be the person she told.

He nodded as though satisfied and returned to his work.

Teresa stared at his back for a moment, remembering how he'd been holding Valerie on her feet after the service. Teresa hadn't considered it at the time, but the man had clearly cared for Valerie as well.

Interesting.

Teresa turned back and set off for her Corolla, letting all the revelations of the morning set in. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the office door flew open as she passed, a body tearing down the steps yelling "Chibs!"

She almost dropped the envelope, and when he saw her Juice stopped on the last step, surprised but recovering. "Teresa?"

"What is it, Juicy?" The Scott was yelling across the yard.

Juice held up a hand, excusing himself. She could still hear him as he made his way to the garage bays. "Where the hell's Bobby? I can't figure out how the fuck to file the billing from last week. This isn't exactly my expertise. And Gemma did everything on fucking _paper_. It's a nightmare. And her filing system was _specialized_, to say the least."

"Bobby's in the clubhouse," she heard the Scott answer. "And keep your voice down, okay?"

Juice turned to her, noticing how close she actually was. "Shit," he muttered, then turned back to her. "Teresa," his tone was friendly, usual. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see … umm … Fillip," she said, nodding to where the Scott was disappearing back under the hood of the F150.

"Oh. How come?"

She looked down at the envelope then up into those warm, inviting, deep brown eyes. "I don't know where Val went," she began, then covered her mouth as she realized she was near crying.

Juice's face went straight to surprise like he thought he might have done something to upset her, but he recovered quickly and put one hand on her shoulder. "Hey, hey. It's okay. None of us really knew she was leaving."

Teresa nodded, sniffling and trying to get herself under control. With a shuddering breath she said, "I'm worried about her."

"Me too," Juice admitted. "Although, she's likely better off being far from this place for a little while."

Teresa was startled by that. "Is she in trouble? Did she do something?"

Juice sighed, looking over her head and trying to decide what to say.

"Tell me," she encouraged him. "Please."

"We're not going to hunt her down," he said gently, and she noted he still hadn't taken his hand off her shoulder. It was quite nice, actually. "She just kind of … kicked up a lot of dust before she left. It's a bit tense around here right now. That's all. And her name is sure to ruffle some feathers so maybe just … keep it all to yourself for a while. Chibs and me, we're okay. Everyone else is dealing with things a bit differently."

"Chibs?"

"Oh, that's him," Juice pointed. "Fillip Telford. You can talk to either of us but … no one else, okay?"

Teresa managed a weak smile. "I'm not likely to strike up conversation with most of your friends anyway."

He didn't take it as an insult, he just smiled. "That's good. Oh, and she had that security system installed. It doesn't connect to a monitoring site, it connects _here_. If you want to set it up for monitoring let me know first so I can, you know, cut that connection."

She frowned. "You really think I should live there? I mean, with all the things that happened there …"

Juice shrugged. "I think the mortgage is only, like, six hundred a month. _I'd _live there."

"Is it?" She looked at the envelope like her own address could confirm that or something. "That's less than my rent."

"Yeah, she must have had a hell of a down payment," he said, then his head tilted like he'd struck on some other idea.

"What is it?" she said, not able to help herself.

He caught her look and took his hand back. "Sorry, nothing."

"You looked like you just had an idea."

Juice laughed. "They're so rare they're _obvious_, hey?"

"No, I didn't mean that -"

"You know what? I'll meet you at Val's tonight. Around seven. I'll get my stuff out of that system and then it's all yours. Is that okay?"

She ignored the flutter of a thrill that ran through her when his eyes hit hers directly. "Sure. I'm free then."

"Great. I'll see you tonight. Take care, Teresa."

She got behind the wheel of her Corolla, trying to keep up with everything that just happened. It was inappropriate, but the idea that she'd be alone in that house with Juice that evening didn't really have her worried.

She was actually kind of excited.

* * *

**These "fluffier" ones sure write themselves fast. Looks like this one should come out to about ten chapters in all. As always, reviews and comments are welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

Teresa's feet were aching from the sandals and her face pinched from smiling at every prospective employer for hours on end. Besides booking an appointment the following day with a real estate lawyer to go over Val's paperwork, she'd also been asked for four impromptu interviews out of the six places she'd applied at, and after stopping at the market on her way home she was basically beat as she crossed the threshold of her apartment.

She would have loved to just crawl into a bubble bath and call it a night, but she still had to meet Juice at Val's house in an hour. Her excitement at that thought didn't bring any guilt with it; she was still worried about Val, she wasn't overlooking that drama. And her impending date with Ethan was hardly anything to get herself in a tizzy over. No _betrayal _there.

And yet the thought of being alone in a private place with that baby-faced biker had her in a bit of a state. She wanted to change her clothes and look nice but she agonized over appearing to be _trying_. After eating a bit of the chicken-spinach salad she'd picked up at the deli counter she refreshed her body spray; her only concession to meeting a man she didn't know but was terribly attracted to nonetheless.

Teresa arrived at seven o'clock sharp, letting herself in the front door. She moved around the house opening windows, letting fresh air in. Immediately the place felt less oppressive, and when she had the blinds up with the evening sun streaming through she could almost forget that many people had been shot here.

Until she walked through the master bedroom, that is. This was where Valerie had been attacked, assaulted and abused. This was also where she had fought tooth and nail to survive. The evidence of that recent violence was now clearly visible in the sunset shining into the room. There was a hole torn into the drywall next to the door. The en suite was completely ripped up, even though the broken tile and plaster dust had been cleaned off the floor. It looked like a war zone in that bathroom. She'd only missed it before because she was looking for signs of life that told her Valerie was still in the same zip code.

Staring at the holes pock-marking the drywall on the far wall made Teresa wonder how the hell Valerie had stayed as long as she had before taking off.

The carpet in the bedroom was incredibly soft from having been shampooed. That thought made Teresa shudder.

Men had died in this room. She took a deep breath, trying to imagine being Valerie, having to shoot someone to live. Had Trager been dead by that point? Did she know?

Wasn't she terrified?

It seemed so quiet. Down the street someone was mowing their lawn and a few kids rode by on bicycles, but the silence in the house was heavy.

Teresa had a moment of panic, ferociously wishing Valerie was there. She wanted to talk to her, assure herself that Valerie knew what she was doing by taking off. That leaving without warning was the right call to make.

Feeling inconsolably morose, she dragged herself into the kitchen and circled the island, peering out across the deck and into the backyard. When she turned to the island she noticed a lone bottle of wine in the rack built into this far side. It had a bright red ribbon tied around it.

Teresa frowned, pulling it out. There was a tag on it. Not much of a going away note, but it still managed to make her smile. _Teresa. I'm sorry to take off like this. Enjoy the wine, enjoy the house or sell it (I wouldn't fault you for it). I will be fine, please don't worry about me and please forgive me. I will miss you. Valerie._

She tucked the card into her purse. She didn't know why she wanted to keep it, but she did.

Teresa found a corkscrew in one of the kitchen drawers, marvelling how simple it would be to move in if she decided she wanted to. She could just leave her miss-matched plates and cutlery behind in that apartment; easiest move ever. Until she remembered the dead.

This house was haunted in many, many different ways.

Teresa wrestled the wine open, found the wide-mouth stemware behind the frosted-glass cupboard doors, and poured a modest helping for herself before returning to the living room.

She pulled her laptop bag up onto her lap, determined to get _something _done while she waited. She had the day's newspaper as well, ready to scour and see if anyone else needed an admin professional or bookkeeper.

She prepped a few more cover letters; one admin position had come open for a law office, and another part-time bookkeeping posting for a small specialty smoke shop. It would be money even if it _was _sporadic.

The next posting down made her drop her pencil. "Office administrator, Teller-Morrow Garage."

She sat up straight, rubbed her eyes and looked again. Gemma Morrow wasn't running that office anymore? She probably should have gathered that from what she'd overheard at the garage that afternoon. Why would that woman leave for good? That was certainly curious, but absolutely not a position _she _was going to apply for.

Her wine was gone and she got up to pour another glass, not questioning why this living room suddenly really did feel like _hers_. The furniture was comfortable and in a style she liked. She would have likely considered buying a suite much like this one.

And maybe this was inappropriate for her to be considering.

She shook her head, then became aware of a loud rumbling building in the distance, rattling the glass in the windows before dying off right outside the house.

Teresa froze in place. She heard footsteps on the front stoop, and still she stayed where she was. She felt rattled. Nervous.

Thrilled.

There was a knock at the door and she forced herself _not _dart over to let him in. She tried to look casual as she swung the knob inward, smiling. "Hi Juice."

"Hey Teresa," he greeted her easily. "Thanks for letting me come over."

To show it was _no big deal _she shook her head and motioned him inside. "No worries."

When she closed the door she noted that he wasn't wearing that frightening vest with the Grim Reaper on the back. He had a black hooded sweatshirt on, which he unzipped and removed once he was inside, slinging it over an armchair. Underneath was a regular white T-shirt. He pulled a small screwdriver kit out of the pocket of the hoodie as he spoke. "I'll be out of your hair in a bit."

"No worries," she said, casual. "Valerie left a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?"

He laughed, attention on unscrewing the faceplate on the alarm keypad. "Not really a wine guy. But thanks."

She nodded and went back to the couch, sitting cross-legged on the cushions, wondering for the first time where the coffee table was.

"So, what are you up to tonight?" Juice asked conversationally.

She shrugged when he glanced at her over one shoulder. "Job hunting."

He nodded. "Oh yeah, I guess. How's it going?"

Teresa sighed. "There are no other super-organized, tidy and friendly psychologists hiring right now. So that sucks."

"Is that stuff what you went to school with?"

"Yeah. The _administrative arts_. I'm a receptionist book keeper, basically."

Juice turned to her, head cocked. "Really? You keep track of invoices?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Basic book keeping, day to day finances, scheduling. Answering the phone. Smiling all the time."

"We're looking for one of those at the garage."

She had to smile at the _one of those_ remark. "I saw your posting in today's _Journal_."

"It's hard to hire someone to work there. Mechanics are no problem but the office stuff is … a bit harder."

Teresa smiled. "I think I can see how that would be a problem."

"We have an _accountant_," he went on. "He files the taxes and shit. But everything up until that point is just an absolute mess right now."

"Who was doing it before? Why'd they leave?"

Juice brought his head up then seemed to remember himself. "Uh … family friend. There was an issue and she doesn't work there anymore."

Teresa's curiosity was peaked but she wasn't going to push it.

"I don't suppose you'll be applying at TM?"

She laughed a bit. "Ummm … I don't think so."

Juice hit her with another bright smile, then went back to his work. She tried not to watch how the shape of his back shifted and moved under the fabric of his shirt, or how the arms of the T-shirt were stretched to accommodate the biceps they were wrapped around. It was a futile effort.

She shifted on the sofa, sighing as she tried to get her mind back on what she had been doing. Which was … what, exactly?

"So, have you given much thought to whether or not you want to live here?"

At his question Teresa surveyed the living room again. "I don't know. It's a nice place. And it sure was generous. But I can't stop thinking about what happened here."

"So you're leaning towards no?"

She tried to find a way to adequately explain her thoughts on the subject. "There are bullet holes all over the bedroom and bathroom. It looks like a war scene from a movie, without any blood. I stand in there and all I can wonder is how the hell she wasn't scared stiff to be locked in the house with those men. How she was able to fight back at all -" her voice caught, and she covered her mouth, horrified when tears sprang to her eyes. She rushed on to avoid crying. "I guess I'm not sure I deserve this place. I'm not nearly bad ass enough."

She hated breaking down. She didn't know him well enough to cry in front of him. But he crossed the room anyway, lifting the laptop off her knees and sitting next to her. "Teresa? I'm sorry I brought it up. Are you okay?"

She nodded, getting to her feet and avoiding him touching her. "Sorry. I just miss her. I'm worried."

Juice sat on the sofa, hands joined between his knees, leaning forward, thoughtful. "If it's any consolation … Valerie's incredibly tough. She's going to be just fine. She's been through worse than you know about."

That brought Teresa's head up. "What? What does that mean?"

He held his hands out defensively. "I can't tell you. That's not my story, it's hers. Just believe me that she is more equipped to deal with things than … hell, more than me. More than most of the guys. She's one tough broad, actually."

Teresa was intrigued. "Did she have a double life or something?"

His smile was bright. And adorable. "Sure. Whatever you want to tell yourself. At least you stopped crying."

And she had. She allowed a smile.

He took it as a sign she was fine. "That's better. You've got a great smile." Then got to his feet. "Almost done."

"No hurry," she quipped, returning to her seat, heart racing a bit. Crap, did she honestly just say that?

"Hey," he said, spinning back to her. "Did you check the garage?"

She frowned. "No, no I didn't. I'm sure she took her car."

He strode across the foyer to the garage door and opened it, then looked back over his shoulder. "Is it okay if I check?"

She waved a hand. "Sure. Sure – go ahead."

He nodded thanks then flicked the garage light on, clapping his hands once and laughing before disappearing from view.

Teresa got to her feet and followed, wondering what the hell could have been _that _exciting in the garage. Of course, she should have known.

Juice was climbing onto a motorcycle, standing it upright and grinning over the handlebars at her.

Teresa, predictably, didn't know a bike from … well, she couldn't even come up with a good comparison. It was painted black, there was chrome, it looked dusty and a bit beat up. She figured it was maybe old.

"Is this a good thing?" she asked, leaning on the doorframe and crossing her arms.

"Are you kidding? This is a classic. She said it was her dad's." He looked thoughtful. "It's too bad she had to leave this. She seemed to like riding."

Teresa didn't know what to say. She hadn't realized Valerie could even ride a motorcycle. Jesus, she hadn't known much about her at all.

Juice was shaking his head. "I guess it wouldn't have been good for the baby."

Teresa gasped. "The what?"

He looked up, stricken. "Ah, shit. You didn't hear that from me, okay?"

"Valerie's_ pregnant_?"

He put a finger up to his lips. "Don't repeat that to anyone. No one's supposed to know. She didn't want everyone knowing."

"How do _you_ know then?"

He looked defeated. "Chibs found out by accident. Sort of. Gemma let it slip."

"_Gemma Morrow_ knew about this?"

Juice sighed, running hands over his Mohawked head. "Shit. Shit, shit."

Teresa was hurt. She'd really thought herself to be Valerie's only friend.

"Gemma guessed. Valerie fainted after the memorial. She kind of bullied Valerie into finding out, from what I hear. It's all hearsay, swear to God. It's girl stuff. I don't know."

Teresa covered her mouth. "And she's all alone?"

Juice shrugged, trying to make it better. "Technically she's _not _alone."

Teresa shot him a look. "This isn't funny. She's going to have a _baby _and she's alone!"

Juice stood up over the bike, draping his arms on the handlebars. "You going to track her down? Find her all on your own?"

"I … I mean …"

"Have you ever tried tracking someone down who wants to _stay _hidden? Because that's what she wants. That's why she ran. She's not interested in having anyone around. If she was she would _be _here."

"I just want to know _why_," she said pathetically.

He tilted his head, squinting his eyes just a bit. "Come here."

"What? Why?"

He waved her over, smiling again. "Come _here, _Teresa."

The smile and her name convinced her. She crossed the concrete pad to stand next to him. He scooted back on the seat, patting the leather in front of him. "Get on."

She immediately shook her head. "No, no. I've never been on one of these things."

He laughed. "Wow, you must be kidding. And here I had you pegged as a Harley bitch."

He was making fun of her. She felt her back straighten. "Well, sorry to disappoint. But I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow. "This is yours now. You sure you don't want to at least climb on?"

Try as she might, she couldn't look away from those big, brown eyes and dimples. She sighed, and he laughed in victory. "I'll even ride bitch," he said, moving back a bit more. "As long as you don't tell anyone."

She laughed, rubbing her forehead and feeling foolish. "Right. I'm sure my friends would know what to do with that information."

"Come on Teresa, you'll like it. I promise."

She cast her eyes upward, questioning her own intelligence at the fact that she was going to actually do this. She turned to face front, brought her leg up in front of herself, cautious of the fact she was wearing a skirt, and settled on the seat. His hands hit her hips to pull her back from the handlebars, and while she wasn't leaning into his chest she was very aware of it.

"Hands up on the bars, do it."

She did as told, the position straightening her back. That was better.

Until he slid closer. His hands grasped around her knees, lifting up while saying "Feet on the pegs. That's what it's like to ride."

She sighed, shrugging. "Okay. It's really not that comfortable. I like a seat with a back on it."

He laughed, and his chest rumbled against her back. "Nah, when you're on the road, wind hitting you in the face, this machine rumbling under you … you'd love it."

She had to laugh to break her nerves. "I doubt it."

He leaned forward, his hard body coming fully in contact with her, mouth close to her ear, "If you've never tried it, how do you know?"

She swallowed, having no answer for that. He hadn't taken his hands off her thighs, either. Wait – when had he put them there?

"You've got nice legs, you know that?"

She felt the heat in her cheeks, dropping her hands from the rubber grips and moving as though to push his hands off. "Do I?"

He stopped her easily, holding her by the wrists and letting them rest where his hands had been in the first place. "You should wear more skirts," he suggested, thumbs running across the inside of her forearms.

She was staring at his hands and what they were doing. She knew was likely blushing furiously, but he couldn't see it at least. He let go of her hands, then ran his palms up her upper arms and back down again. She felt the goosebumps, cleared her throat.

"Ummm …" she had no idea what to do. She wasn't used to someone being so comfortable putting their hands on her. Even more confusing was the fact that she liked it. His hands were rough, calloused. She was pretty sure they were the only hands of that kind that had ever been on her bare skin.

"You still seeing that guy I saw you at the pub with?" he asked.

Through the haze of … _whatever_ it was he was doing to her, she remembered the disastrous night she and Ethan decided to set up Val with his friend, Nathan. The Sons of Anarchy had walked into the bar and Valerie had looked ready to crawl under the table. Teresa hadn't known she'd been seeing that Trager; she still felt horrible about the whole thing.

"Ummm, no," she answered, deciding then and there that this Friday's agreement to meet Ethan didn't count as a date.

His hands dropped to her thighs again, sliding upwards, taking the light fabric of the skirt with them. His hands kneaded at the muscle of her legs, fingertips finding bare skin, and she felt his face nestle against her neck, behind her ear. He kissed her there, making her gasp.

She remembered herself, thank goodness. As elegantly as she'd climbed on the contraption she slipped off again, walking away and not looking at him. Her face was blazing and her heart was racing.

"Are you okay?"

She covered her mouth, wondering how the hell he sounded so calm. She felt on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Hey – Teresa?" To her horror he was climbing off the bike, obviously concerned, approaching her and turning her. "Are you okay?"

She kept trying to turn away, knowing she was blushing and breathing a little too heavily.

"I didn't want to freak you out," he said, finally getting her to face him. "I just thought …"

"What?" she asked, not recognizing how raspy her voice had become.

His smile wasn't bright and adorable, it was more _sly _than anything. Without a word he put both hands on her shoulders, sliding downwards to pull her in, and kissed her.

* * *

**As always, reviews and comments are welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

The second his lips touched hers she stopped breathing, letting her eyes close, wondering where the hell her common sense had gone. Because she was letting him … _oh God._

His tongue slid into her mouth as he pulled her close by her lower back, pressing against her in a way that was too familiar for how long she'd known him. It was forward and aggressive and not what she was used to at all. She was frozen in place but it had nothing to do with fear.

It was her own ineptitude. She didn't know what to do. She realized her arms were out to her sides, hands splayed, scared to touch him in return and reluctant to push him off. She probably looked like she was wading into cold water.

Teresa stepped back, turned away, gasping for some air and avoiding looking at him. "Ummm …" she mumbled brilliantly.

"Teresa? You okay?"

He wasn't apologizing for it, she realized. She turned to him, flustered. "I … I'm fine. Sorry."

He frowned, stepping closer again. "For what?"

She backed up, the railing of the landing from the house stopping her. He didn't desist; his hands came to her hips. "I don't know. I don't know why I said that." She sounded like she was having a stroke.

"Are you scared of me?" She just shook her head no, those deep brown eyes warm as they ran down her neck, to the point where her blouse was buttoned shut. "I think you liked it, Teresa."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She was a goldfish, apparently.

"Just _relax_," he instructed, mouth coming down on hers again, closing her eyes and making her knees drop a little. Her heart was hammering against her breastbone. Tentative, she put her hands on his shoulders, the warmth unnerving her. This time when his tongue darted across her lower lip she met it with hers, earning a throaty sound from him that ran a jolt up her back. Feeling bolder she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, her breasts crushing against the muscle of his chest, the difference incredibly thrilling.

Juice ran one hard hand down her back to cup her left cheek, rolling her hips hard into his. She could tell he was excited; his un-gentlemanly reaction wasn't hidden in the least. As contact was made he uttered that same sound, pushing her against the railing further. She gasped against his mouth, feeling a warmth spread through her lower abdomen. Her entire body was occupied with just _feeling_, but in her mind she was trying to tally up how long it had been since –

She moaned, realizing his free hand was on her breast; even over her shirt the warmth was startling. Teresa wasn't like this; she didn't give in to things this easily. And yet the thought of asking him to stop was ridiculous.

He parted mouths long enough to smile down at her. "You're a pretty good kisser."

She was surprised. "I am?"

"It's like you're a bit unsure. I think you're going to haul off and slap me at some point. The uncertainty is sort of … fun."

She laughed, knowing her blush probably stretched from her cheeks to her chest by now.

"Is it okay if I keep kissing you?"

He asked for no reason because before she could answer he had her wrapped up tightly in those strong arms again, that mouth that had seemed so sweet and proper before giving her very unladylike thoughts as it met hers, insistent and consuming.

Teresa realized this was what she'd been wanting on _some _level at least. Someone who wouldn't sit on his hands and wait for … the harvest moon? A sign from Thor?

The only thing that would stop this would be _her. _

One hand slid under her blouse, making her realize he'd untucked it without her knowing. It cupped around her hip, his thumb tracing circles. She felt like her knees might give out. His other hand slid up across her ribs, skimming along her skin, cupping a breast, just brushing over her nipple through her bra. She gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

Something broke. Snapped. She couldn't say what the real difference had been, and she wouldn't call it _relaxing_. She just … made up her mind. She found her hands running up over his head, brushing across his short Mohawk before sliding back down the back of his neck, nails scratching just a bit.

His hand tightened on her hip, increasing her heart rate. The palm on her breast slid around her back, hitching her up against him. From her hip that hand slid out of her shirt, down her side, along her thigh, eliciting more goose bumps. He pulled her knee up to his waist and parted their mouths to kiss and bite along her neck, which was good. She needed the air, needed to breathe.

"Shit, Teresa," he rasped against her skin. "I guess this is a yes, then?"

She gasped as his erection brushed against her again, closing her eyes. Her brain wanted to tell her to get it under control, but the rest of her was thinking for itself. _Two years_, she realized. It had been two years since her college boyfriend had surprise-visited her and spent the night reliving old times. The last time she'd let anyone under her skirt. Jesus, no wonder she was mad for it.

All she could think of was what he was going to do to her next.

He answered the question by dropping her leg, grabbing her by the back of the head and kissing her again while walking with her backwards and turning her. She hit a high table, gasping, startled. He pulled back to look her in the eye, his hands sliding back to her hips, heading straight for bare skin. "This is all okay?"

She nodded, blinking slowly as he ran those tight circles over her hipbones. It was gathering heat between her legs and she squirmed, just letting her eyes fall closed. Why were his hands so bloody exciting?

He turned her around, and she opened her eyes, startled. She was facing the workbench built into the wall along the back of the garage. It was bare except for her hands, gripping the edge tightly. Vaguely she felt him push her skirt up, holding her hips again but at a very different angle. She squeezed her eyes shut once more, her breath hitching. He pressed against her backside, his breath hot as he moved his lips along the back of her neck.

"I really want to do this. Are you sure you're up for it?"

Her head fell back to his shoulder, and she knew she was panting. She couldn't speak, couldn't answer. Her head was a fog of want. What Teresa did was a shock to her as well.

She pulled his hand from her hip, pushing it lower to cup herself between her legs. As his hand went where she guided it she felt her body quake, a soft cry tearing loose.

He chuckled, his chest shaking against her. His hand began to move and she rose up to her toes, mouth falling slack. Her underwear was in the way but it made for fantastic friction, especially as wetness worked its way upward. Soon she was on the cusp, her cries in time with the motion of those circling fingers. The orgasm rendered her silent, however, falling forward and catching herself on her hands, her body thrilled and yet not done.

He stepped away from her momentarily, and she must have made a noise of frustration because she heard him laugh again. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

She heard the rustle of fabric, heard the zipper of his pants. She didn't dare move. She wanted to be ready for whatever he was going to do next.

Juice yanked her back upright by her shoulders, his hands roughly undoing the buttons of her blouse, pulling the fabric off her arms. Her bra came next, and immediately after discarding it he gripped both breasts roughly, nipping at her neck where it joined her shoulder. She made a sound, not of pain or fear, panting in anticipation.

He pushed her down towards the workbench again, her hands rested on its top, fingers splayed. Teresa whimpered as he ran those warm palms back up her backside again, squeezing tight. She listened to his breathing, realizing she was turning him on, too. That was good. That thrilled her.

He ripped her underwear down to her ankles, helped her step out of them, then kicked her feet further apart. She was on display, and as strange as it felt to be naked in a garage she just couldn't bring herself to care. This was as undone as Teresa had ever been.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, and without any more preamble he was inside her, painfully perfect and forceful. She gasped, eyes shut. It didn't hurt. It felt almost too good …

The next thrust made her bite her lip. She'd never had anyone hit the mark like this; her brain was informing her she might actually have a real honest-to-God orgasm from intercourse if this kept up, and the realization made her nervous.

She was a goner, true, but _that_ was a whole different level of abandon.

The third thrust scattered the thought. She wasn't going to fight against it. She was going to let it happen and enjoy it. The fourth thrust interrupted _that _consideration and her mind shut off in the time it took her to say, "Oh God, yes. Please. Just like that."

He … _growled_, was the only way to put it. He was pushing against her hard and fast, and she was pushing back with each movement. Being a part of the act wasn't something she would have anticipated, but she liked it.

Oh God she _really _liked it like this.

As climax hit she dug her nails into the edge of the tabletop, back arching, body clenching around him, making the most unladylike sounds she'd ever made. She wasn't embarrassed. It felt too good … she actually might have seen stars as the pleasure crested and ebbed away.

"We're going to do that again," he promised roughly, "and this time I'm going to see it."

Her heart raced further. He disengaged from her momentarily, spun her around, then picked her up by her butt, leading her to the bare wall next to the door. On instinct she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles at his back.

Her back hit the wall hard, knocking the breath from her, but then he was inside her again, moving smooth but fast. His face was pressed to her neck, and she hooked her nails into his shoulders. He was shirtless, and she didn't know when that happened, but she loved the feeling of his skin; so smooth and tight over muscles that were bunching with this physical exertion. The coil of pressure was building again, and she could hear her own noises ramping up to match his.

He pulled back, face tight, his eyes razor-focused on her face. She felt flushed, dishevelled, and gorgeous as he smiled at her. "_Jesus_ Teresa," he gasped.

That's when she came. Her back arched, throwing her head against the drywall, her body convulsing, probably making her hard to hold onto. But his eyes stayed locked on hers, and as she came down from that high she caught the change in his face right before his eyes shut, his head came forward and rested against her collarbone. He quaked and grunted, making her smile. She smoothed her palms over his shoulders, the back of his neck, and waited out his orgasm, knowing she was probably bright pink from the top of her head to her toes.

He helped her back down to her feet, and instinctively she covered her chest while he turned to get rid of the condom. He zipped up as he grabbed her bra and shirt, holding them out to her with a small and satisfied smile.

Suddenly her skin ran cold. She took the clothing, pressing it to her chest, the rapid breathing was coming from somewhere else. She covered her mouth with her other hand, feeling stupid. Ashamed.

"Teresa?"

She shook her head and turned away. "Oh my God. What did I just do?"

"What are you talking about?" there was a laugh in his voice that made her stomach lurch.

She stomped up the wooden stairs to the landing, through the interior door to the house and then down the hall, flinging herself into the bathroom and slamming the door. She didn't even turn the light on. She just threw her back to the door, trying to stop the panic that was rising in her chest.

"Teresa?"

She couldn't answer, even though he was politely knocking on the door, his voice clearly concerned. "Teresa? Are you okay? Did … did I hurt you?"

She closed her eyes. God no, he certainly hadn't _hurt _anything.

"Teresa, say something here. You … you got me worried."

She had to tell him _something_. "I'm fine. Sorry, I'm just … I don't know why I did that. I'm not … I don't do things like that."

"Somehow I get the feeling you _have _done that before, Teresa."

He was trying to make light of it but it made her feel worse. "I'm not a slut, Juice!" she snapped back. "I never just … let myself go like that."

There was a long pause. "Well, that's a shame. Because I thought that was … pretty spectacular, actually."

She still couldn't offer him an answer. Now she was stuck halfway between embarrassment and guilt.

"Listen, Teresa? If you're the kind that goes in for that whole _I changed my mind _after the fact, I'm leaving." He waited for her to say something else, tell him she was okay. She could hear it in his tone. But he wouldn't wait forever for it, either. "Catch 'ya later." He sounded only slightly pissed off but it cut to the quick anyway.

She held her breath, waiting, eventually hearing the front door slam shut. Then she flipped the light on, putting her clothes back on without looking at herself in the mirror.

Most women feared turning out like one or both of their parents. Her own mother had lit out when Teresa was fifteen, chasing a boy-toy she'd met at the bar where she'd worked. It had gutted her father, nearly ruined him. A few years later she'd learned her mother had constantly cheated on the man. Sure she was a functional alcoholic, but her promiscuity was coming from something else. Something she certainly never told her daughter about. But Teresa knew her mother was far from stable, and the constant cheating was just the surface.

She hadn't seen the woman in the past ten years, either. For all she knew her mother was dead by now.

Teresa had always thought that keeping herself under control would be enough to not end up like that woman. And to think she'd given Ethan shit for making her feel like a slut …

It was fine, she told herself, taking a deep calming breath. It was done. It had been incredibly enjoyable. And it was just the one time. It hardly made her a nymphomaniac.

Jesus, no wonder she'd ended up working for a therapist. Clearly she needed some help herself.

Finally she caught her own reflection in the mirror. Her hair was stylishly mussed. Her cheeks were rosy, even her lips looked like they were blushing. Her eyes were brighter than normal. She looked … okay, she actually looked kind of attractive like this, she had to admit. This was not the look of someone who hadn't just enjoyed herself a whole hell of a lot.

She was a mess on the _inside_. After all, really, what had Juice done wrong? She'd been willing and available, clearly on board with the entire thing. And from the first time she'd seen him she'd found him very, _very_ appealing. On some level maybe she'd been itching for a really, _really _good … fuck.

Yeah, even_ thinking _the word made her cringe. She wasn't cut out for this and yet …

She put a hand to her chest as her heart fluttered. It _had_ been spectacular. She had to smile as the flood came back to her, the brief and intense crashing of bodies that he'd obviously wanted her to enjoy, too. And she'd freaked out, all but wrecking the entire amazing experience.

Teresa had to apologize. The thought made her cringe, but to let him walk away thinking she was a head case was even more humiliating. The way she'd run. Dismissed him like that. He'd hardly indicated he was only interested in a one-time romp and wished her well in life.

He'd actually looked ready for cuddling, and she'd bet he would be just as good at that, too.

She face palmed herself. Teresa wasn't even considering the people he was affiliated with. He didn't look like he fit in the grand scheme of things, and maybe that's why she wasn't as worried about it. She was solely hung up on her own reaction to him. What an idiot she was.

She excelled at making issues out of things that didn't deserve to be even mini-issues. Teresa honestly didn't trust herself to know what was best for her. But who else was there to know what was best for her?

She squared her shoulders, meeting her own eye in the mirror. She could be tough. She could handle anything. She could handle this … just like _Valerie_.

The thought helped as she packed up her papers and laptop in the living room. She'd channel Valerie. When that terrifying Trager character decided to make a move did Teresa honestly believe Valerie had locked herself in a bathroom from fear? _Obviously_ not.

Be like Valerie. Be happy. Stop being scared of everything.

* * *

**Luckily, I have wrapped up my initial draft of this story and my editing has been going well. I've even tucked into _another _short one (if anyone's up for Val and Chibs), so I will update this one a little more often. Reviews and comments always welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

The bank and lawyer's visits made it official; Teresa was the owner of 143 Willow Crescent. She would own this home worth just under two hundred grand once the remaining mortgage was paid off; only about forty-two thousand dollars.

Teresa had no idea how Valerie could afford that much of a down payment. She would have had school to pay for, and she never once mentioned her parents so Teresa assumed they weren't helping her. And Teresa also knew she wasn't in the red as far as the practice had gone but there was no way she was making triple-mortgage payments either.

Teresa resolved to let it go. It wasn't any of her business.

What _was _her business was getting a damn job. Armed with a few more resumes she left the lawyer's office late-morning and, having had a back-bone infusion that came with becoming a home owner, decided to cross off apologizing to Juice from her to-do list next.

Job hunting after that should be downright pleasant.

The Teller-Morrow lot was packed. She parked in the one open space a few stalls from the office, then made her way to the open garage bays. She was hoping the same Scottish fellow would be working. He didn't scare her at all, however gruff he might be.

Three cars were being worked on. She could tell by the size of the men bent over hoods and sliding under vehicles that neither Juice nor the Scot were here. She'd have to just ask.

"Excuse me," she said politely, standing in front of the centre stall. The man with his face shoved into the guts of an Chevy didn't move, didn't look up. "Excuse me?" She repeated, slightly louder.

"Yeah, I heard you. What do 'ya want?" he basically snarled, throwing her a look over his shoulder, lip curled like he was annoyed to be addressed.

She stepped back. His dark eyes were mean, cold. His shaved head added to the anonymous menace. His voice was gruff, and everything about the man was hard and cruel.

He tossed the rag in his hands on the engine block and stalked over to her. "Well, Blondie? What do you want?"

She wanted to back up but she was, quite frankly, terrified. He stood too close for good manners, neck arching his head over her like a bully on a playground. She met his eye but she felt the need to curl up and try to be invisible. "I …" she whispered, cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm looking for Juice."

He nodded, half-smile holding no humour whatsoever. "Of course you are. He's a little more your speed, ain't he Blondie?"

"Teresa," she said, wondering where the hell _that _bit of courage came from. And instantly regretting it.

He took another two steps towards her, and she scrambled away, nearly stumbling on her heels. "You look scared, _Teresa. _You better be careful with that." He leaned into her more, and she put her hands up. "I kinda like it."

"Hap!"

He spun away from her, heading back to the car he was working on like a guard dog being told to "heel." She turned to the voice of her saviour, a shorter, stout man with long hair and an unbelievably grizzled beard. "Come here, Blondie," he shouted across the lot.

_Not so creative with the nicknames_, she mused, still glad that someone else seemed interested in helping her. She scurried as beckoned, stepping into the air conditioned office and sighing in relief.

She shut the door behind her and the man smiled at her over the rim of his reading glasses, pointing to a chair. "I'm Bobby," he said kindly, offering her his hand.

Teresa was relieved, taking the offered hand, glad there were a few people around her with manners. "Teresa," she returned.

He waved to a plastic stacking chair across the desk from him. "Have a seat," he invited, sitting at the desk himself.

She took the offered chair. "Thank you so much."

"So, where'd you get your admin education?"

She frowned, then remembered the Teller-Morrow job posting. He thought she was here to apply. "Oh, no. I'm not looking for a job."

He took off his glasses. "You're not?"

"No," she gave a sympathetic laugh. "No, this is confusing. I came here to see Juice."

He cast his eyes downward, blatantly running them down and then back up her legs to her face. She felt the outrage begin just as he said, "Well that's too bad."

"Listen," she said firmly, disappointed he wasn't as decent and agreeable as he had appeared to be. "I'm looking for Juice. Is he here or not?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well ma'am, let me see if I can find him."

He stood and passed through another doorway that appeared to lead to the garage. He pushed it open and it banged loudly. "Juicy! Visitor!" He turned back to her with a wide smile. "He'll be right with you, kitten." The pleasantness came across as sarcasm.

_Well, at least it wasn't Blondie,_ she mused.

When Juice entered the office she felt the temperature of the room increase, or maybe that was just her. Her shirt felt stuffy and her palms were sweaty, which was ridiculous since the window air conditioner was running full bore.

He saw her, stopped in the doorway, then crossed his arms and stood in the doorway, head back. "Teresa. What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping she was applying for a job," Bobby said, feeling the tension in the room.

"I'm not here for the job," she said pointedly, tilting her head and willing Juice to understand. "I'm here to talk to you."

There was a pause, then finally Juice shrugged. "You're looking for work, Teresa."

She frowned. "No. No, I'm not interested in this job."

Bobby held his hands out the side. "No one's applied here. Can you do this job?"

It caught her unaware. The question felt like a trap. "Of course I can _do _it but -"

"Perfect! You start tomorrow. Thank Christ." Bobby shoved Juice out of his way and exited out to the lot.

Teresa's mouth was hanging open, and she was blinking rapidly. "What … what the hell just happened?"

After a moment Juice's face softened into a grin. "I think he likes you."

"I can't work here!"

"It's perfect."

"No, no it's not." She got to her feet, stuttering like a twit. "I-I can't work in a garage."

He shrugged. "It's invoicing. You don't have to know how to fix anything, just learn the shop rate. Keep track of paper and bookings. That's it. How is it different from what you did for Val?"

She opened her mouth to argue and couldn't think of a word to add to the argument.

Juice came forward, leaning against the front of the desk, still grinning. "You can do this job. And we need someone right now."

"Juice, I can't -"

"I think you can. You're all about orderliness and organization. And really, you'd basically be your own boss here. None of us would be willing to tell you how to do this stuff."

She met his warm eyes, feeling her argument crumble just a bit. She crossed her arms, mirroring his posture. "Working here would be awkward."

"Why? Because of last night?"

She felt the blush, looking at her feet. "Well, I mean … that's … that's a big part of it, yeah."

He laughed. "Look, about that, Teresa -"

"That's why I'm here," she cut him off. "I wanted to … apologize. For my reaction. It's just that I've never just …. I mean, I barely know you."

There was no answer, so she looked up to see what his reaction was. He was smiling at her, loving that she was so uncomfortable, yet again. _Now _she was blushing.

"Okay, look. I wanted to apologize. So I did. I'm not a crazy person."

Juice was laughing now. "Teresa, if you could just relax -"

"I _did _relax," she sputtered. "I relaxed and look what happened. I had sex with someone I didn't know in a garage."

Too late she realized the office door was open, the scary bald man leaning on the doorjamb with both hands. "Don't stop there," he invited with a chilling grin. "Go on."

She didn't just blush. She was ready to faint now.

"What do you need, Hap?" Juice sounded clearly amused.

"Keys for the Pontiac. I'm done with that Chev."

Juice circled to the corkboard behind the desk, checking the keys hanging from pushpins. Teresa sat back in the chair, turning away from the man in the doorway, hoping the floor might open up and swallow her.

"Don't let me interrupt," the gravelly voice continued. "Blondie, continue that story."

She ignored him, resting her head on her hand, closing her eyes and waiting for her brain to explode. "Here 'ya go, Killer," Juice said, crossing to him with a keychain. "And mind your own business."

The bald man smiled. "Juicy – you hitting that?"

"Get back to work," Juice instructed, shutting the door.

"Good for you, man," the one they were calling _Hap_ said, laughing as the door was closed.

"Oh my God," she whispered when they were alone again.

She heard him crouch down in front of her. She refused to look at him, her mortification now publicly shared and celebrated. He put a hand on her knee and despite her humiliation a thrill still ran up her leg.

"Teresa," he said coaxingly.

She finally looked up, clasping her hands in her lap. "This is fantastic," she said with despair.

He laughed softly, squeezing her leg. "Listen. Maybe I pushed too much last night. I knew you were a bit uptight -"

She scoffed, leaning away. "I'm _not _uptight!"

He tilted his head as if asking if she really meant that. "Come on, Teresa. You wouldn't even _sit _on a parked motorcycle for Christ's sake."

"So what? I'm not uptight. And I _did _sit on it."

His hand dropped down to trace his fingers over the ankle of her crossed leg. She never would have guessed that her ankle would be more erogenous than her thigh.

His smile was almost too much. "You proved you can let loose, Teresa. I can't lie, I was shocked."

Now she was probably lobster red.

"And I liked it, Teresa."

She inhaled, closing her eyes. "Juice, I really came here to apologize for overreacting like that."

"And now that you're here I want to tell you that I'd still like to see you. However that might happen."

Now he had her attention. "What?"

"You're not like the girls that hang around here, as I'm sure you're aware. I shouldn't have pushed up on you that hard. I'm sorry if you felt pressured at any point. But I'm not sorry for what happened. I can't be sorry for that."

Her blood was officially fifteen degrees warmer than normal. "Me neither," she breathed, lost again in those doe eyes. "I'm not sorry for that."

He raised his head, kissing her once softly. She had to smile, casting her eyes down, likely looking bashful.

The door swung open and Juice leapt back up, turning to face Bobby. "Well, did you talk her into taking the job?"

Juice nodded, all _no big deal _about it. "Yeah, she'll take it."

Teresa stood. "Wait – what?"

"Excellent. Pile of invoices from last month are right there. Juice just set up that computer. Get to it." Then Bobby turned back to the garage and shut the door.

She grabbed Juice by the elbow. "Juice! I _can't _work here -"

He cut her off by clasping her face in both hands, pressing another kiss to her lips before pulling back to smile down at her. "You have to. You need the money."

She sighed, closing her eyes, inadvertently inviting another kiss.

"Teresa, even just get it set up in some way resembling a rational thought. Then we can hire someone to take it over. But someone has to set it right first."

She opened her eyes again, her fight crumbling under the assault of adorable that were his dimples. "I can run the office _my _way?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yes. Get it set up like a _real _office. At least agree to that. Otherwise Bobby will make _me _do it and I lack the attention span. I hate this detail work shit."

She squirmed a bit, and he grasped her by the arms gently. "Juice -"

"Teresa," he mocked her tone, his grin enough to make her crack a smile.

She sighed. "You're so persuasive," she accused.

"I know," he replied, easing her to his chest, pressing his mouth to hers without warming.

She sighed, the act catching her off guard. Then she remembered where they were, trying to back away. He laughed at that, squeezing her tighter. She melted into him, her body warming as it contacted his, everything about her feeling so soft compared to how hard he was.

Juice stepped backwards a bit, dragging her with him, then turned her to back into the desk. She still resisted but it was admittedly a weak attempt. He popped her up onto the desk's edge and she reflexively hitched her knees to his hips. "By the way," he said wryly, barely tearing his lips from hers. "This is part of your job interview."

She nearly laughed, letting him kiss her neck. "I only perform this task for certain people," she reminded him. He brought his face level with hers again.

"Good," he answered. "I have to admit, I'm dying to see what it'll be like to have you running this office."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Comedic value?"

"You don't think I can handle it?"

He tilted his head, smiling sweetly again. "I _know _you can. Just prove it, Teresa."

Just as his lips were coming down on hers again the outside door swung open, a young, handsome blonde man stopping just as he was about to enter the office, his face showing his obvious surprise.

Juice backed off, grasped her hips and lowered her back to her feet. She stared at her shoes, wondering who this was and how uncomfortable he was going to make this situation.

"Juice? We got church in twenty. Something's come up."

"Sure Jax. I'll be there."

The blonde flicked his blue eyes over Teresa. "Who's the girl?"

She met his gaze, swallowing and hoping she wasn't blazing red from cheeks to chin. "I'm … I'm Teresa," she stammered. "Hi."

He smiled broadly, and the grin relaxed her slightly. "Shit Juice, don't tell me you're already tapping the office manager." And the relaxation was _gone_.

"Well, one came before the other -" Juice explained before Teresa hit his arm.

Jax laughed. "Whatever, man. Just be at church in twenty."

"You got it."

When he left Teresa collapsed against the desk, covering her face. "Oh my God."

"Teresa, I don't know if you've noticed, but no one around here gets hung up on this kind of thing."

"No, they'll just humiliate me."

"Only because you let them. Besides, I think this might be good for you."

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"It's okay," he assured her, moving towards the interior door to the garage. "You can do this. Forget the rest of them."

She sighed. "It would be nice to be done interviewing and applying."

His smile brightened noticeably. "See? You're hired. Congrats. Now come up with a system. Make me proud."

As he was leaving she blurted out the most asinine question. "You guys go to church?"

His smile was brilliant, and he left the office laughing.

When she was alone Teresa turned in a circle in front of the desk, really taking in the challenge in front of her. Jesus, the place was a mess before she even had a chance to begin. There was a ledger on the desk, a stack of invoices, and the computer was brand new, untouched. This would be _so _much work.

A challenge, she reminded herself; a seemingly impossible task that would consume most of her time.

It was exactly what she was looking for.

She sat down in the beaten up chair behind the desk, flipping through the invoices. She cringed. The three-part forms were the kind you buy in a book at a stationary store with the Teller-Morrow name and address rubber stamped on them.

For Valerie she'd had nice, neat invoices made with a pretty logo in the corner, so attractive and professional-looking. She decided she'd do the same for Teller-Morrow, with about 100% less pretty that is. She moved the mouse on the computer, and gasped. It was _entirely _new. No one had used this at all, which meant she needed to get this business online and up to speed to at least 2005 standards.

The desk was littered with refuse, an ashtray full of lipstick-smeared cigarette butts buried below invoices and slips of paper. As she stared in dismay the scary, dark-eyed man returned, wordlessly dropping another work order on a pile of scattered sheets before leaving.

Teresa sighed to the empty room. She was obviously needed here. She spun the chair around, noting that the flow of work was determined by thumbtacks on a cork board. There was no visual display showing what was waiting to be done and why. She was willing to bet everything was prioritized by the order the cars were parked in.

Teresa knew that she'd need to know this business better than she did to give any opinions, but she also recognized a place that in desperate need of guidance. This garage required organizing more than her bookkeeping skills.

First, a database of parts and prices. Then a form that would use that database to assign those values to a code, automatically generating prices for the invoice. Teresa used the computer to find the software she'd need to do all this, organized the invoices and work orders into stacks according to when the work got done so when her system was in place she could get it all online immediately.

As far as organizing the rest of the office, she knew she needed a white board. And a peg board would be much better that corkboard for the vehicle keys. She made a list of everything she'd need from Office Depot. She included a new chair for herself because after an hour this one was already killing her back.

The least these apes could do was placate her with a comfortable chair.

Teresa felt better already, tucking her list into her purse as Bobby returned. "So Blondie, you think you can handle it here?"

She nodded, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I think so."

"Where 'ya going?"

"If I'm running this office, we're doing it my way. I need a _lot _of stuff to get this place organized. I'm going to Office Depot. I'll put it on my credit card but you're reimbursing me."

She headed for the door, then turned back. "Oh. And there's a list of software stuck to the monitor. It can all be bought and installed online, so can you get Juice to do that when he has a moment?"

Bobby just stared at her. His surprise was almost worth her saying yes to the job. "I'll be back," she said sweetly, turning and closing the door behind her.

* * *

**As always, comments and reviews are welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

Office-supply-shopping took longer than expected. By the time she was done the garage lot was gated and locked, so she decided to pick up some supper and head back to her apartment to start packing some of her things up. Now that she was back in her safe and familiar home she had to wonder if she was going through some kind of quarter-life crisis. Moving into a house where so many people had died, taking a job at Teller-Morrow where all the Sons of Anarchy _worked _… all decisions that seemed incredibly impulsive surrounded by her mismatched furniture, comfortable knick knacks and hand-me-down electronics.

Not to mention the madness she'd taken part in the night before.

Even now Teresa experienced a flush of heat thinking about it, but she brushed it aside and began packing up her lesser-used clothing for cooler weather, knowing it would be a while before she needed it. Footwear followed. As she was stacking her boots into a box someone knocked on her door, and she was in a _task oriented _zone as she opened the door without first looking to see who it was.

Ethan brushed past her before she even registered him. She frowned, shut the door while asking, "Ethan, what's going on?"

"Why … why didn't you tell me you were buying a house?"

She stopped in the living room entryway, crossing her arms. "How the hell did you know that already?"

"Maureen Lloyd – at Land Titles. _She _told me. Why'd I have to hear it from _her_?"

Teresa took a deep breath, wondering what this panic was all about. "Ethan, it kind of came up. I'm not sure why you think you'd be the first to know."

"Because we're … we're _dating _Teresa. Aren't we?"

She frowned. "We've agreed to go out again on Friday. I don't think that's dating. I think it's staying open to the _idea _of dating, but not … Ethan, why are you _here?"_

"I just want to know how you can afford to buy a house. You're unemployed!"

She took a step back and headed for the front door. "Ethan, you need to go. And consider the date on Friday cancelled."

She yanked the door open and waited. When he approached her he looked sheepish. "Look, I just didn't know you had that kind of money. And the truth is … I kinda owe some people money that I don't have."

Teresa's mouth fell open. "As you just so _kindly _pointed out, I'm unemployed. And you're here to ask for money?"

"Just a couple grand. Should buy me some time to come up with the rest."

Teresa motioned out the door. "The house I _bought_ was actually a gift from my old boss, Ethan. I _don't _have a pile of money, and I'm not a bank. You should go."

He grabbed her by the forearms, holding her in place roughly. She cried out a bit in surprise, not because it really hurt.

"They're going to _hurt _me if I don't pay them back, Teresa."

"Ethan, let go -"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

She levelled her eyes at him, her panic elevating slightly. "Ethan, I don't have money for you. I'm sorry. I don't know what I can tell you."

He made a frustrated sound and shoved her away. She hit the door with her shoulders, and it smacked the doorstop loudly. It didn't hurt but it was forceful.

"What the hell is this?"

Teresa and Ethan both turned to Juice at the same time. Teresa found the sight of him standing in the hall with flowers quite surreal.

"_Who_ the hell is this?" Ethan snarled at her.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" Juice volleyed back, still managing to look tough while holding yellow daisies.

"I'm her boyfriend."

This was awkward.

"She broke up with you," Juice said confidently. "And you put your hands on her like that again I'll break _you_."

Ethan cast an incredulous look her way, making a sound of disbelief. "I don't believe this. This is why you break up with me? To be some biker's _slut_?"

She slapped him across the face, hard. It stung her hand and snapped his head to the side. He gave her a smile that could mean anything and leaned in close. "You can have her," Ethan spat out, not looking at Juice.

Juice grabbed him by the coat collar so suddenly it surprised both of them, and Ethan all but flew across the hallway and hit the far wall. "I think you should go," Juice said with chilling calm, standing in front of Teresa in the doorway, chin up. "Before you do something _really_ fucking stupid."

Ethan didn't even look at her, he just stormed down the hallway, throwing the fire door open so hard it hit the wall on the other side.

Teresa was surprised to find she wasn't scared, not even trembling. What she _did _feel was acute confusion. What would compel Ethan to ask her for thousands of dollars – even if she _had _just bought a house? A new homeowner is the _last _person you ask for money.

Juice turned to her, shutting the door behind him and offering that characteristically adorable smile, like he hadn't just threatened a man. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, he just startled me. He was asking for money. A strange way to ask for a favour."

He held out the impressive collection of sunshine-yellow daisies. "Here. When you didn't come back this afternoon I thought maybe I'd … freaked you out. Again."

She took the flowers, shaking her head. "No, you didn't freak me out. Shopping just took longer than I expected."

"Bobby said you had quite a list when you left." He followed her through the small living room into the cramped galley kitchen. She dug a vase out from under the sink and began filling it.

"You got my software list?"

"All done. Just came from there, actually."

She nodded, unwrapping the daisies from the cellophane and plopping them in the vase. So strange to be having this normal, work-related conversation after last night, and then seeing Juice manhandle Ethan, throwing him out of the building.

"I don't know why you think I can work there." She said, keeping it to the work topic. "It's still utterly ridiculous to me -" she was cut short by his arms wrapping around her from behind, pulling her back into him like a living, breathing wall.

His breath tickled the hair behind her ear. "Maybe I just want to see you more often."

So they weren't even going to _talk _about what had just happened?

"Juice -" It was cut off as he nibbled at her neck, making her sigh as her eyes fell closed. "Is this what you came here for?"

His hands gripped her hips roughly. "If I did?"

"Juice -"

"_Teresa._ Tell me to leave."

His tongue lapped quickly at the side of her neck and her whole body trembled.

"I don't want you to leave," she admitted.

"Then why are we talking?"

She turned in his arms, leaning away from him against the counter. "Why me?"

He stared at her for a minute, then loudly sighed and ran a hand over his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Why me? Why do I get this attention?"

He rolled his eyes upward. "I don't know, Teresa. First time I saw you, thought you were kinda hot. I've always liked blondes."

"That's superficial."

"It's true. Then … when was the second time I saw you?"

"At Valerie's. You were installing her security system." The answer flew right out of her mouth, unchecked.

It made him smile at her, sweet and slow. "Really? You remember that, hey?"

She bristled, crossing her arms and shrugging. "I suppose."

"You counting the times we talked?"

He was playing with her and she refused to let her smile slip into place. "Not at all."

"You came to the clubhouse for the funeral, and … you looked really good, Teresa."

Her heart tripped over itself just a bit.

"Then you came by the garage … I don't know. You were so out of place. That's probably when I noticed your legs, too."

"Blonde hair and legs and awkward. So that's it?"

He leaned forward, putting his hands on the counter to each side of her, not touching her. "You smelled good. Looked nice and limber, climbing on that bike for me."

Now she felt that she was definitely blushing.

"I think I liked seeing all that control break, more than anything else. I believe you that you never let go, ever. But I made you let go, and I liked it."

He straightened up, stepping against her. Breathing was starting to get tricky. "So I proved I was easy and that was all it took?" she asked.

"If it's easy why I gotta try this hard?"

"I don't know."

"Easy is always available. I'm much more interested in what's under those very nice and elegant clothes. I like making a mess of _you_."

A rush of anticipation parted her lips, making her breathe harder. He noticed it and his smile broadened. "Uh oh, Teresa. You're cracking again."

"Shut up," she snapped before closing the inches between them and kissing him, hard, right on the mouth.

He yanked her away from the cupboard, hand immediately on her butt, the other arm wrapping tight around her back. She could smell motor oil on him, but he also smelled like fresh air and leather. She loved how he kissed; all consuming, urgent, a matter of life and death. No frustrating little nibbles; he devoured her with each motion of his lips and tongue.

It was primal and raw, this thrilling knowledge that he could take her and she would let him. She wanted him to.

Teresa let her hands trail down his chest, his abdomen, reaching the bottom of his T-shirt. She hesitated a fraction of a second, then buried her hands underneath that cotton fabric, her fingers skimming across his ribs and stomach. She had no idea what she wanted to do other than just touch him. With each breath his muscles rolled under her hands, a phenomenon she found so incredibly erotic. His skin was stretched tight over his obvious strength. Pulse racing she let her hands dance upwards, fluttering to the pads of muscle on his chest, daring to graze his nipples with the palms of both hands.

When he hissed in a deep breath, sucking air from around her mouth, her thrill turned to something else. She wanted him to do that again. With a fingertip she traced around both peaks under his shirt, unbelievably delighted that they were hard. He let go of her to grab her forearms.

"Teresa," he muttered, parting lips before giving her another brief kiss, "what are you doing?" His teasing tone was back.

She pulled back far enough to look him at him straight on. She was glad to see his gorgeous brown eyes were bright and heated, his breathing laboured too. "Whatever I want," she answered.

In a sudden motion he was pulling her shirt off over her head. She gasped, then he was kissing her again. _Fine_, she thought. She yanked upward on his shirt hem and he stepped back, his smile wide, chin raised like he was daring her, then he raised his hands over his head.

Teresa's hands weren't exactly steady but they were eager. She pulled up on his shirt, too short to actually pull it all the way up. He helped, lowering his hands to let the shirt hit the ground and wrapping her up in arms that were so warm, strong and soft all at the same time. His chest cushioned hers sweetly, more warm skin contact.

She noticed he liked the feel of her as well. His hands weren't still. They ran over her back, her sides, her hips and up her arms again before he cradled her head to deepen the kiss. When he did she swore she could feel him everywhere, all over her. She was remembering him _in _her just from that kiss.

When his hands undid the back clasp of her bra and pulled it off her arms slowly, deliberately, she took a breather, eyes closed, just feeling the accidental brush of his hands on her arms, the cold air hitting her breasts, making them ache to be touched. When she fluttered her eyes open she was staring at his forehead, ecstatic to see him mesmerized by her body, her skin, gazing on her with unabashed and unapologetic appreciation. His hands slid over her sides, raising gooseflesh on her arms and tightening her nipples almost painfully. Or maybe they were just aching for attention.

She set her hands on his shoulders, drawing him closer. He raised his eyes to hers momentarily before swooping down on her again, mouth crushing against hers, demanding. She ran her nails up over his bare scalp, down the back of his neck, hitching them into his shoulders as one of his hands strayed up to her breast, rolling the peak between thumb and finger not quite to the point of pain.

A flush of heat pooled immediately between her legs and Teresa moaned into his mouth, arching her back to fill his palm even as she flinched. He ground his hips against hers and his erection pressed to her belly, evidence that she was doing to him exactly what he was doing to her.

It made her braver. She could be sexy, she could be … aggressive, too.

She scored his chest with her nails slightly, and when he trembled from it she nearly smiled. Her fingers picked at the fly of his jeans, undoing the top button.

He grabbed her hands, stopping that kiss again just for a moment. "What's your hurry?" he asked, pulling her hands apart but not releasing her wrists.

"I want to touch you," she whispered, not recognizing her own voice.

"Why?"

"You did it to me."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't get me too worked up," he mumbled, letting go. She immediately unzipped his jeans, pushed them out of the way a few inches then reached into his shorts. Her hand closed around something hard and hot, and she closed her eyes even as she smiled.

"This feels good," she gasped.

"Tell me about it." There was a satisfying strain to his voice which brought her eyes back to his face. She ran her hand up and down that hard but incredibly smooth appendage, just letting her palm drag along, fingers softly trailing the opposite side. As she did it he squeezed his eyes closed, mouth falling slack, his breath hitching just before he groaned. "Jesus, Teresa. Make up your mind."

She tightened her grip, biting her lip as he grunted again, then pulling upward. His groan was louder, brows coming together almost in _thought_. But she was willing to bet he wasn't thinking about much.

His hips began to move against her hand, the skin sliding over his erection in her hand, ramping up her heartbeat. He was lost to the feeling, just like she had been in Val's garage. She understood now why he liked seeing her like that. It was beautifully naughty.

In a sudden motion she dropped to her knees. "Teresa, you don't have to -" he cut off his own protestation with a moan, falling against the edge of the kitchen island as she took him in her mouth.

The sounds he made were the most thrilling part. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but she had to guess that a bit of friction, suction and lubrication should be more than enough to please him. And it seemed to be; he was muttering her name and whimpering; it was almost as good as what he'd done to her with just his hand.

He tightened up hip to toe suddenly, gasping and barking out a sound of much male satisfaction she felt it run through her core. She continued to suck and slide him between her lips, for the first time in her life not caring about swallowing. She didn't want to wreck this.

Not that it was _dirty-_bad. It was sordid, passionate abandon, and she was growing to like it a whole lot.

When she knew he was done, his breathing hard but her name coming out like a whimper, she sat back on her heels, biting her lip and smiling up at him. "Was that okay?" she asked huskily.

He tucked himself away with a smile. "That was more than okay."

"Are you leaving now?"

"Hell no," he crouched down to look her in the eye. "I'm going to need a few minutes to get ready for more."

"Oh."

"Luckily I know how to spend those minutes."

The tremor was between her legs as he smiled at her wickedly, grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet. "I want to see your bed."

"Down the hall -" with a shriek she found herself thrown over his shoulder, staring at his bare back. "Juice!"

"Quiet, save your strength."

He found her room easily, turning on the light and basically tossing her onto her covers. She landed with arms and legs akimbo, pushing her hair out of her face, aware of her breasts on display because he was starting at them like he'd never seen them before.

"Turn the light off," she panted. "Please."

"Uh uh. I like to see who I'm with."

She huffed in frustration, leaning over to turn on the much more forgiving bedside lamp. "There. That's the best you're getting. Turn off the light."

His smile took its time again but he swung his arm out to hit the switch, then he fell to his knees next to the bed, grabbing her calves. "I kinda like you bossing me around," he admitted, unbuttoning her shorts.

She helped him push them off, then he stood and she undid his jeans again before he dropped them to the ground; but not before grabbing a condom from his pocket. He tossed it under the light of the tableside lamp.

He sunk to his knees before her and she leaned forward to kiss him. He put a hand on the centre of her chest, pressing against her. She frowned as she sat up and he kept pushing.

"Juice, what -"

"Lie back," he instructed softly, pushing her to her back on the blankets. She tried to squeeze her knees together but he kept them open. She was breathing heavy, her body on display save for what little her panties covered.

He kissed her knees, running a trail of caresses up the inside of her thighs. His hands were silky on her hips, playing with the elastic of her underwear, all of it a terrible tease. She fought to not writhe from each touch but it was difficult. When he finally pulled that scrap of fabric down her legs she hated how wet she was and how much it embarrassed her.

He kept her legs splayed, his eyes roaming all over her. Teresa was on offer for whatever he wanted to do to her, and there was a bit of trepidation until he nipped at her inner thigh, making her cry out.

She was fevered, starting to feel like she was sweating, and all he'd done was undress her. If he didn't take her immediately she was going to combust.

"Juice," she was panting as he continued teasing her. "Please, God please … Juice."

When he finally struck with his tongue she actually, honestly, _hollered, _caught off guard. Her back bowed off the bed, her legs trembled as he held them tightly out of the way. All the foreplay meant that first touch had her holding off, wanting this to last longer. It was far too sweet to be over that fast.

Her other two boyfriends had never been good at this. Or maybe she just hadn't had the patience for it. But his skill was perfectly apparent as he sucked and rolled his tongue over that straining bundle of nerves, reducing her to a wailing and panting mess.

As the orgasm washed through her she surprised herself by falling completely silent, just letting her body quiver and shake. When it was done and his now-gentle ministrations were too much she moaned and shifted her hips away, sighing deeply.

He slid onto the mattress next to her, not moving her, just running his hands over her with that wonderful smile lighting up his face.

"What?" she asked softly with a smile, wondering what he was thinking.

His answer made her shudder and blush all at the same time. "Natural blondes taste so good."


	7. Chapter 7

"Is that soap? Lotion? Or perfume?"

Teresa wiggled her hips away from Juice's hands, trying not to laugh so she wouldn't choke on her toast. "Juice!" she exclaimed once she was able to swallow. "We're going to be late."

He backed off of her, picking his T-shirt up off the kitchen floor where it still lay. When he pulled it on she felt a distinct pang of regret. It seemed a shame to cover up something so lovely.

"Why are you so worried about being on time? It's not the _bank_, Teresa. It's a garage."

"I need you to show me how to take appointments today so I can start answering the phone and making bookings. And I need time to get my system all set up."

He snuggled against her back as she put her plate in the dishwasher, sliding his hands under her skirt to caress her backend again. She jerked upright, laughing and squealing. "Juice! Cut it out!"

"I can't help it. I'm going to be thinking about this underwear all day."

She felt the flush across her chest as she shook her head and let him kiss her quickly. "You can't be like this at the garage."

"The hell I can't."

"It's unprofessional."

"And I can't have anyone else thinking you're up for grabs, either." He pushed her hair behind her ears with that smile still plastered in place. "It's for your own good, really."

"No one touches me without my say-so, Juice. Or do you think you rendered me so uncontrollable I'll just give myself up to whoever crooks their finger at me?"

He tilted his head. "It's just better if they don't make you uncomfortable. Isn't it?"

It was such a sweet and thoughtful answer she felt her heart actually melt a little bit. "Body lotion," she revealed, circling around him and grabbing her purse.

He followed her down the stairs to her car. "You wanna ride on my bike with me?" he asked as she unlocked the driver's door.

She had to smile. "Maybe another time."

"Why not now?"

"My trunk is full of stuff for the office," she explained, tossing her purse onto the passenger seat.

"Okay. I'll see you there then," he offered her another farewell kiss which she took, then he slapped her butt before heading for the front of the apartment building where apparently his bike was parked.

Her building was further from the garage than it had been from Valerie's office, but her new _house _was even closer still. She realized on the drive she would almost be close enough to walk to work at Teller-Morrow. Any maybe that meant that sometimes _after _work she might have a reason to beg for a ride on the back of Juice's motorcycle …

The thought made her smile, and she had no idea why that was. She was terrified of motorcycles. She'd never been on a bike outside of the one parked in Valerie's garage. But still, if he was driving, that might be just fine. Maybe even _fun. _

She kept the ridiculously content and private smile off her face as she climbed out of her car. The office door was unlocked, and when she stepped through she was surprised to find Bobby already inside, directing two younger men to a sofa of questionable sanitary standards. When he saw Teresa he gave her the most fatherly smile which she knew very well was as misleading as everything else around this place.

"Morning, Blondie. I'm having the guys get rid of the sofa, thought you might not want to use it anyway."

She nodded, pulling off her sunglasses. "Well, thank you. That's very kind." She barely noticed that he'd called her _Blondie_ again.

She got out of the way while the two tilted and strained to get the sofa through the door and down the stairs. One of the men was quite heavy and she was worried about the health of his heart as he grunted and strained.

Teresa eyes the corner of the office left uncovered by the couch's departure and felt her dismay grow. This place wasn't just disorganized. It was filthy.

She heard a toilet flush, and that's when she realized there was also a washroom next to the door leading to the garage interior. She had no interest in going in there.

The door opened and the man who'd terrified her before, Happy, walked out, eyes barely skimming over her before returning to the garage.

Bobby was watching her with interest. "I wouldn't use the bathroom until you've let Rat give it a good cleaning."

She was startled into speaking again. "Rat?"

"Hey! Rat!" Bobby bellowed over her question.

The smaller of the two younger men scurried back up the stairs from outside, leaning on the open door. "Yeah?"

"You're on janitorial duty. We've got a _lady _on the premises now. Clean the bathroom, then go through here with a broom and mop. It's a fucking mess."

"Right away." He bounded off and Teresa was startled with how easy that was.

"Who is he?" she asked.

Bobby shrugged. "For now, he's your slave. Get him to do your dirty work. He won't mind."

Well, that was handy. She set her purse and sunglasses down on top of a dusty filing cabinet then returned to her car and popped the trunk.

"Here Miss, let me help."

Faster than she would have guessed the large heavy fellow was at her side, lifting the office chair box from the truck much easier than she could have.

"Oh, thank you," she said, reaching for the Office Depot bags herself.

"Would you like me to put this together for you?"

She shrugged, now officially at a loss for words. "Well, I'm sure you're busy."

"Not really. Rat and I were told to just help you today."

She frowned at that. "Really? By who?"

"Chibs. Thought you might need a hand getting the place clean, too. That's why Bobby had us get rid of the couch."

On instinct she turned to survey the lot, seeing the man in question sitting on a picnic table in front of the clubhouse_, _smoking a cigarette. As though he could hear the conversation he raised his hand in a slight wave. She returned it, then smiled up at the kid next to her. "Well, thank you. That's very nice … what's your name?"

"Phil. And it's no problem."

She left him to the task of chair assembly while she carried her supplies into the office. Rat was sweeping the floor as asked. She eyed the dust in the air before deciding to stay out of his way until it was done.

Teresa returned to the sunshine in the concrete yard, took a breath, and crossed the lot to where the Scottish man was just standing up, grinding a cigarette into the pavement with his boot heel.

"Do I call you Fillip or Chibs?" she opened with.

He looked surprised. "Chibs."

"Thank you for lending me the help today."

He nodded. "It's no trouble."

"You haven't … _heard _anything?"

He sucked air through his teeth, looking around to see who else was close. "No, no I haven't," he said quietly. "And I don't know if we will. She knows how to stay hidden if that's what she wants."

Teresa tilted her head. "What was she to you? Honestly?"

He burrowed his brows and shot her an incredulous stare. "I beg your pardon?"

She wasn't scared despite the sharp tone. "I saw at the memorial … how you were with her. You care about her."

He turned to walk away quite suddenly, then spun back to her. "Listen," he muttered under his breath, peering up at her over his shades. "She's my friend's old lady. We take care of our widows, okay? And don't you imply what you just did ever again."

She stepped back. "I'm sorry. It's not my business."

"There _is _no business to it," he spat out, stalking away.

Well, that was certainly a revealing outburst. Teresa turned back to the office, feeling guilty for not just minding her own affairs and hoping no one saw what happened. Her curiosity was likely going to get her in trouble working here if she didn't learn to rein it in.

Rat had cleaned the floor, even moving the filing cabinets and desk so no corner went unnoticed. He was now eyeing the bathroom up like a soldier at Omaha beach.

"You really don't want to do this part," Rat assured her when he caught her watching him with amusement.

"I'm in complete agreement," she told him as he shut himself inside with a grimace.

Teresa returned to her car and yanked the pegboard and whiteboard from her back seat. As she was carrying them up the steps a bike entered the yard, and when she turned she recognized Juice immediately. She stopped right where she was, watching him pull that noisy machine into a spot before climbing off. Teresa found herself smiling the whole time, catching herself as a chill ran down her spine and she noticed Happy staring at her with a smirk on his face, standing next to the office steps. When the hell did he get there?

She decided to ignore him.

"Giving a lot away there, Blondie," he warned her with a cigarette-scuffed voice.

She let herself into the office without a backwards glance, kicking the door shut. With the smell of chemical pine trees in the air she set to making sure every work-related item that came through the door had a place to go. Before long she had to open all the windows to get a breeze coming through. She preferred fresh air over AC, but if it kept getting warmer she'd have to give in eventually.

Teresa unearthed some semblance of a "work flow" trend in the mass of keys and papers she had inherited. She used it to organize what she guessed to be that day's priority jobs and then basically sat back to watch and see if it worked. While she fixed up the rest of the office, of course.

Teresa was going to keep the work orders the same as they'd been. No need to change that and ruffle the gruff, cranky feathers of a shop full of mechanics. But what went _out _of that office and into a customer's hand was going to be coming from her.

When she sat down at the computer and got it up and running she was glad to see all her software installed. She started by creating the invoice template, and just as she was starting the door opened and she couldn't help but smile at Juice as he entered her little world again.

"Hi," he said casually.

"Hi," she returned. "Thank you for getting the software installed," she said, like he hadn't just given her two orgasms that very morning.

"No problem. I downloaded the parts catalogue, too. The prices are all in that spreadsheet on the desktop."

"They are?"

"Yeah. You search for the part, find the price and transfer it over." He pointed the functions out to her, standing behind her and reaching over her shoulder. She noticed her temperature spike from the close contact but resolved to stay calm.

"We'll get the inventory numbers in today so that'll help too. A lot easier to make an order this way."

She was nodding, trying to focus her brain on what he was saying but all she could remember was what he'd done to her the night before and then again that morning. That and the fact he was leaning over her shoulder to point out everything he was talking about. And even though he'd showered at her place with none of his own stuff in the apartment he still managed to smell really, _really_ freaking good.

Teresa might have to implement a rule: no sex on workdays. Okay, maybe just no sex in the mornings on weekdays.

"Does this help, you think?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "As long as they write the parts on the work orders properly. I don't want to decipher mechanic code."

He laughed, then kissed the side of her neck, instantly raising goose bumps. "I'll mention it. And be suspicious of everything they tell you."

"What?"

Before he could answer the door opened and Happy stalked to the desk, holding out a paper and dropping on the clean space she'd just cleared.

Teresa was terrified, but she said politely, "Thank you. If you could drop it here in this inbox from now on that would be appreciated."

He stood in front of her, frozen to the spot, staring. Her skin felt tight and she swallowed out of nervousness. "You want _what_?"

Juice spoke up for her. "There's an inbox right there for work orders. Just use it, Hap."

Happy didn't look at Juice though, he kept staring at _her_. "You're going to have to be tougher than that to work _here_, Blondie. I just asked you a simple question." He picked the paper back up and made a big show of putting it in the two-tier organizer she had on the desk corner.

Then he circled behind her where her new peg board was next to a document bin on the back wall. The work orders had all been filed in the top bin in the same order as the keys.

"Well what the fuck it this now?"

Juice cursed under his breath. "Really man? You going to whine like a bitch about _everything_?"

Teresa wanted to look away but the man was so terrifying she was fascinated, especially since it wasn't _her _he was staring at. "Yeah. I am. What's next? Washing my hands every time I take a piss?"

"Yes please," she said. Just like that, slipping right between her lips before her brain could step on it and hold it back.

Both men looked at her. Juice looked … well, worried for her. Happy looked like he'd forgotten she was even still there. Then his face cracked into a smile that only made his menace factor drop about ten percent.

"Careful Juicy," he said, eye on her. "I think this one might have balls."

He collected his keys and work order and left while laughing. The sound was chilling. That man made her suspect that Trager had just very _odd_; Happy was the new definition of _scary._

"Why do you call him Happy?" Teresa asked Juice in earnest.

"That's his name," Juice assured her. "That's all you need to know."

He gave her another sweet but brief kiss on the lips, then winked and headed back to the garage. She used the new work order to try out all this new wonderful effort she'd just put in, and was beyond glad to see that it all _worked_.

By that time Phil had her chair assembled and Rat was finally done cleaning the washroom. Then the phone began ringing and Teresa needed help determining how long certain jobs would take. She used Outlook for scheduling; it just seemed to make sense. Then she was able to start the work orders for the next day and so on.

For the most part she had great assistance from the mechanics. She'd take the booking, then yell through the doorway something like "Brake pads!" Someone would always yell back "Two hours."

Eventually she'd know this stuff, but for now they didn't seem to mind helping her out. And as long as she made sure the coffee pot was always full she wasn't getting too much lip from Happy, so she felt like she was starting to get her legs under her.

Teresa ran out to pick up lunch for herself, and as she came back to the office she noted that the door was open and people were talking inside. She couldn't see anyone, so she guessed they were further back by the garage entrance. She knew Juice's voice, obviously, and the Scot's voice would have stood out anywhere.

"… you're sure? You better be sure, Juice."

She stopped where she was. Teresa knew it was a little early in her employment to be eavesdropping, but …

"I am. She had a safety deposit box right up until the day before she skipped town." By Juice's voice it was clear he was excited to be sharing this information.

"Holy shite."

"Yeah. I don't blame her for not saying anything, but … what if they know she has it?"

"We keep our eyes open, boyo. And if your little blonde friend is going to live in that house she needs to be protected."

"I know. I'm already considering that."

"And keep trying to find her. It makes me nervous that we have _no idea_ where she went."

"Me, too." Juice's tone turned to warm, friendly understanding. "I'm worried about her, too."

The Scot sounded irritated in no time flat. "You _should _be worried about how much Val knows, Juice."

"Come on, Chibs -"

"Don't say it, don't give me grief on this. Your girlfriend's already done that."

"Teresa?"

"'Ya got more than one?"

She decided to enter then, loudly stomping her feet up the stairs and removing her sunglasses in the doorway. The Scot was gone, Juice was in the doorway looking thoughtful, but he still offered her his amazing smile.

Teresa's eyes flicked to the door, then back to him. "You were talking about Valerie." It wasn't a question.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. What's going on?"

"You really shouldn't eavesdrop." Truthfully, he didn't sound that angry but it shamed her just a bit.

"Then shut the door!" she returned, exasperated, and tossed her lunch on the desk. "What happened? Is Val in trouble?"

Juice closed the door to the garage, so she took her own advice and shut the office door.

"No one else hears this, okay?" he said, voice low and terribly serious for him.

"Okay."

"Valerie's parents stole money from some people. They killed her family when she was a kid. Now, when I realized how little she owed on that house, I kinda checked into her finances."

"Her parents were – what?" She was horrified how casually he threw it out, like he'd wanted her to know that Valerie had asthma. "Wait - you did _what_? Juice, that's none of your business!"

"It kind of is, and if you let me finish I'll tell you why."

"Sorry," she replied, chastised.

"She didn't have student loans. She paid a big chunk of that mortgage in cash. And then she _left _her house to you? That's weird. How does an _orphan _manage all that?"

Teresa just shrugged when she realized he expected an answer.

"She had the money," he half-smiled now, shaking his head like he was impressed or something. "All that time _she _had the money they were looking for."

"So tell me again why this is any of our business?"

"The guys that shot her. Beat her up. Tried to kill her. Killed Tig. That all happened because of the money her parents stole. If they find out she still has it, they're coming looking for it again. And _you're _in her house, Teresa. Your name's on the title now. That might throw them off for a while, but they might think it's hidden or something. Break in and see if there are any secret hiding spots in the house."

Teresa felt cold now. "So … they're the ones that _raped_ her?"

Juice took her in his arms. "I won't let anything happen to you, Teresa. I'll fix the alarm again so it calls my cell if it's tripped. And _you _watch out for people that seem strange. You gotta listen for Russian accents."

That surprised her. "Russians? They're the ones that shot her, right? Shot up the house?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"I remember. She had an appointment, they left early. She went running to the house, telling Chibs that the Russians had been there. I had no idea what the hell she meant, then the next thing I know the windows are exploding and it's World War Three in her living room."

Juice raised his eyebrows. "You see why I need you to be extra-careful?"

"What if they're still after her?" Teresa got scared. "She's alone and pregnant -"

Juice's grip on her tightened. "I know. But she ran, Teresa. She knows the risk. It's not that I don't care but at the same time … being here would have been really difficult for her. Especially with us looking out for her. You get that, right?"

"Poor Val," she lamented, the weight of the bigger picture sinking in. "I'd feel better if they had caught the guys that hurt her that first time."

"Don't worry about that. Let's worry about what we _can _do, and just make sure you're okay."

His hug or his hand rubbing her back didn't ease her at all. She felt worry, panic, and fear at the thought of ever setting foot in Valerie's house again.

She wasn't going back. There was no way she was living there now; she'd sell it and maybe buy herself another place somewhere else. Or rent it out. Either way, that house wasn't getting the best of _her_.

* * *

**Let's also acknowledge our favourite Scotsman; today is Tommy Flanagan's 48th birthday. **


	8. Chapter 8

**The next story in the saga is coming along quite well, so here's another chapter already. And Happy Independence Day to my American friends!**

* * *

Juice had asked to meet her after work at Valerie's. He wanted to reconnect the security system to his phone even if she wasn't going to be living there. Whatever this money was, he believed it was enough to draw these Russians back to that house.

Teresa didn't want to be there for that.

She let herself in the front door, opening the blinds in the front room again to lift the heavy, morose feeling of the place. She opened the kitchen windows to get fresh air, and then unpacked what she'd bought to make Juice supper.

It was going to be a surprise. She hoped he didn't find it lame, since she had no idea if theirs was the kind of "arrangement" that warranted meals together. But he'd bought her flowers, so this gave her confidence that he wouldn't mind her cooking for him.

She started by squeezing lemon over basa fillets, then cut up peppers and potatoes. She found aluminum foil in a drawer and hoped like hell there actually was still a barbecue outside.

She slid open the patio door, smiling as she saw the stainless steel grill in the corner. There were two Adirondak chairs, a lounger, and bar-height table with two chairs. It was unfortunate the deck lent itself to backyard parties. Valerie had never had people over that she knew.

She wiped down the patio table and the chairs, feeling bad about how dirty she'd let everything get.

As Teresa continued prepping for supper she decided she needed music and flipped on the radio in the far corner behind the toaster. Before long she'd forgotten that this house was a bastion of bloodshed.

The doorbell rang at around six o'clock, and she ran to answer it, breathlessly swinging it open while saying, "You don't need to ring the bell, just come on in -" then she stopped.

She didn't know this man. She'd remember him anywhere. His jet-black hair was slicked back to show an impressive widow's peak, his grey eyes were almost like ice, and his heavy, thick lips looked cruel and severe. His suit probably cost what she'd make in a month. He was older, much older than her, with a well-preserved and handsome appearance.

He scared her.

"Sorry," she said, falling back on manners in her moment of fear. "I thought you were someone else. How ... how can I help you?"

"Valerie Turner? This is you?"

She swallowed. Just that day Juice had told her to beware of Russians. If James Bond movies had taught her anything, she knew that was a Russian accent.

"No, I'm Teresa. Valerie Turner was the former owner," she admitted.

"Is she still in Charming?"

Something told her to lie through her teeth. "I barely knew her. I bought the house, saw her once to shake her hand. I'm sorry."

"Teresa _Stewart_?"

Her stomach sank. "Yes?"

"You were Valerie Turner's assistant, no?"

_Shit._

She moved to shut the door, but his hand came out, slamming flat against the panel. She cried out at the sound, and he chuckled. The sound made her blood run cold.

"Teresa, Miss Stewart. Please. I have come long way. I just need to see Doctor Turner."

"She really has left town," Teresa breathed, pulse racing along with her mouth. "I have no idea where she went."

"Why did you want me to think you didn't know her? Who told you that people might be asking about her?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. _This _was why she should just mind her own damn business.

"Please -" she began, but he stepped into the entryway, backing her up.

"Was it her friends in this motorcycle gang? Or are these _your _friends, too?"

"N-no," she insisted immediately as he shut the door. She gulped. "Please, I don't know anything."

"But maybe your friends do."

She shook her head. "No one knew where she was going. She was scared - she ran."

He nodded. "She was smart to be scared. You steal from my family and your descendants will reap the punishments of what you've done. She's the only one left."

"I don't know what you're talking about. She never stole anything from anyone."

"Her mother and father did. A fair bit of money at the time: almost four hundred thousand dollars."

"She never had that kind of money." He kept advancing, and Teresa was now on the far side of the island from him. "What makes you think she'd have it?"

"We checked the bank. She cleared out a safety deposit box. In case you don't know, that's the best place to keep _cash _without leaving a trail."

"I had no idea."

"Now, let's give your friends a call, shall we? Who's the one with weird hair? The one that spent night?"

Teresa could have fainted. They were watching _her_?

The man moved to her purse, dug around inside, and then slid the phone to her across the island. "Call him."

She eyed the phone. "Why? I _should _just call the police."

"You could," he conceded agreeably, reaching into his suit coat and pulling out a gun. She didn't know the type, but it was a handgun and she brought her hands up immediately. She even bit her lip, feeling tears in her eyes.

"Put your hands down. Pick up the phone and call."

She did, but the number she dialled weren't for Juice's cell, he was already headed to Val's. So she called the office. She prayed someone else was there and that they'd answer.

It rang five times, the space between each ring obscenely long to her own panicked mind. Finally a gruff voice answered, and Teresa knew it was Happy.

"Teller-Morrow, better be an emergency. We're closed."

She would have killed someone to have had Chibs answer. "Hey Juice," she said, way too brightly. "It's Teresa."

"Does this _sound_ like Juice?"

"Not bad, how are you?"

"Fuck's sake, Blondie. Next time, just say no."

"If you could do me a huge favour I'd love you forever. Could you take the thumb drive from the computer and bring it by Val's on your way home? I really, _really _need it."

She could hear the gears in his head as he paused for a full ten seconds. "You in trouble, Blondie?"

She could have wept. "Yes, that's the one."

"At Val's? You need help?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Someone bad there?"

"Uh huh."

"More than one person?"

"Nope."

"Gotcha. There's a gun on 'ya?"

"Yes, thank you again."

"We're on our way."

She hung up, hands shaking, and set the phone down. "He's coming."

"Excellent." He motioned with that ugly firearm. "Come and sit, relax. We might as well be comfortable while we wait."

She did as told, sitting on the edge of the sofa with her hands tightly gripped in her lap. Her heart hammered against the inside wall of her chest so loud she imagined it was shaking the sofa under her.

This man sat on the armchair, gun still trained on her, legs crossed, his one foot bopping up and down like he was waiting for the dentist. The house was terribly quiet, silent enough that the sound of Juice's bike growing louder and louder was very obvious.

"Well, he was certainly fast. He must really think you need your thumb drive." The man smiled coldly, then got up to wait by the door.

Her protective instinct towards Juice felt ridiculous, but it was there. She knew it wasn't Happy on that bike, he would take longer than this to get her. It really was Juice, just stopping by, unawares.

Walking into this mess.

Juice knocked on the door. This stranger opened the door, hiding behind it, swinging it open all the way. Juice stepped through, confused, looking side to side, finally seeing her on the couch. He wasn't clear of the door.

"Behind the door!" she shouted. "Juice - be careful!"

He moved quicker than she would have believed. He dropped to the floor, which made her do the same. As she dove behind the arm chair next to the picture window, wedging herself into the corner out of sight, she saw him reaching for something in his waistband as the door was slammed closed.

The man was expecting Juice to be standing, and he expected her to be on sofa. By the time he noticed he was wrong on both counts Juice had his gun trained on him.

"Drop it," Juice said, calm and cold.

The man had the gun pointed where Teresa _had _been sitting. He began to lower his arm and Juice fired, catching him in the shoulder. He tried to bring his arm around but Juice fired a second time, hitting his hand. Now the gun fell, and in the quiet Teresa realized she was shrieking.

Juice was on his feet in a flash, kicking the dropped weapon well out of the way. "Get up," he snarled, grabbing the man by his lapel. He hauled him forcefully to the dining room table, tossed him in a chair and stood in front of him. "Teresa," Juice called across the living space for her. "Call the garage. See if Happy's there."

She didn't answer. She was shaking.

"Teresa! Try to call Happy at the garage."

"He's already coming," she finally said, getting to her feet shakily. "I called and pretended I was talking to you. He … he understood what I was saying."

"Good girl." Juice's tone was calmer now. "Were you making us supper, Teresa?"

"Y-yes."

"Well come on over, keep getting it ready."

She looked at him like he was crazy.

"Teresa, take your mind off things. Come and get supper ready. It looks good. I'm starving." Nothing in his tone indicated this was true. His eyes were on the dark-haired man at the table, his back was ramrod straight, and he looked really, _really_ tough. And hot.

The last part only partially registered. Numbly, Teresa did as told, ignoring the blood on the wall and the tiles of the entry. Her hands shook but it _did _help.

More bikes arrived. She could hear them outside and feel the rumble in her teeth.

"Teresa, can you let them in?"

She dried her hands on a towel and headed to the entrance, pulling the door open just as Chibs was about to shove it. He had a gun too, pointed upward, and his stance suggested he would have bust in if she took five seconds longer to get there.

He was startled. "Teresa – everything okay?"

"Juice got here first," she said stupidly. "He shot him. He's at the dinner table."

Chibs patted her shoulder, then moved past her into the house. She shut the door and went back to her dinner prep.

"Happy's coming in the back door," Chibs told Juice, taking a seat at the table as well, gun trained on the Russian man.

Juice slid open the patio door, gave a whistle, then walked away without closing it.

With the other two men watching the Russian Juice found his way back to Teresa, putting a hand on her hip, pulling her close as she stupidly breaded the fish. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, no. He just pulled the gun and made me sit on the couch."

"Good. That's good." He kissed her cheek. "We're … we're taking him to the garage. Okay?"

She searched his face, but it was uncharacteristically blank. She didn't try figuring out what they were going to do in the garage. So she just nodded.

"Keep cooking, okay? And let's maybe turn up the radio, okay?"

She kept her eyes on supper, hearing the scuffled footsteps and a chair falling over. The man was shouting in Russian, cut in with "You shouldn't do this. You will be sorry!"

The garage door shut, and the screaming started.

Teresa turned the music louder. She let the fish sit, wrapped the vegetables in foil and oiled the asparagus. She washed the dishes she'd dirtied and put them away. Then she opened the bottle of wine she'd picked up just for this dinner she'd planned on making. She might save a glass for someone else, but she wasn't adverse to drinking the whole thing herself.

The next time she dared to turn the music down, she could only hear the hum of men talking in the garage. She finished the first glass of wine and poured her second. When the door opened she couldn't help herself, she looked.

Juice was leading the way, Chibs behind him. The Scottish man wasn't in his vest, just his T-shirt. He had a lot of blood on him. It was splashed up his face, his arms, and she had to look at his hands. His knuckles were mangled.

Teresa gasped and came forward before she could think on it. "Are you okay?"

Juice just gave her a look that indicated she should stay out of it before leading Chibs to the bathroom in the hallway. He retrieved towels from the hall closet, which made Teresa wonder how he knew Val's house so well, then accompanied the Scot into the washroom for a second. When he returned he exhaled loudly, closing the door behind him.

"What happened? He looks terrible."

Juice shook his head. "I'll tell you later."

Teresa was scanning _his _face, hands and arms, but even his white T-shirt was pristine. "Did … did Chibs … kill him?"

Juice avoided her look. "Just, give us a minute to clean up, okay?"

On cue Happy was shouting from the garage door. "Hey! Blondie! Can you whip me up some soap and water in a bucket? And bleach, if there's any around?"

She looked to Juice. He just nodded.

Teresa searched the cupboards under the sink, coming up with an ice cream pail and all-purpose cleaner. There was also a plastic scrub brush and rubber gloves.

No bleach, but the washer and dryer were in the garage. That's likely where the harsher stuff was.

She left what she found by the door, knocked and walked away.

Juice retrieved the supplies, but she didn't look. She didn't want to see anything. He disappeared back into the garage and she took her place at the table, facing out the patio door.

The next time she heard a door open she didn't move. She just tightened her grip on the wine glass.

To her surprise Chibs sat at the table next to her, putting a box of cigarettes on the table, one in his mouth. He paused with the lighter almost to his mouth, then he asked, "Do you mind if I have a cigarette?"

She waved a hand. "Won't bother me."

"You think there's a shirt around here that might fit?"

It was then Teresa realized he was only wearing jeans. It made her uncomfortable but he seemed unconcerned.

"I'll go see."

She got up quickly, making her way down the hallway towards the master bedroom. She opened one closet, and it was mostly empty except for a few dresses and coats.

The other closet held a sparse selection of men's clothes. Teresa felt a lump in her throat, knowing they were Trager's. But practicality told her that Chibs needed clothes that weren't soaked in blood.

She grabbed a navy blue T-shirt, shut the closet door and returned to the kitchen. She tossed the shirt on the table in front of him, slid the patio door open to vent the cigarette smoke, and placed a saucer on the table for an ashtray.

When she sat down again he'd covered his tattoos and skin. The shirt was oversized on him.

They shared silence for a moment. Teresa's wine vanished.

"Don't feel bad for him," Chibs finally said.

"Pardon?"

"He wasn't a good person." Chibs met her eye again. "His father ordered the murder of Val's family. And they did a lot of other shite that's none of our business. If he found Val he would have done worse. Maybe even to you. And he sent those men that killed Tig. So don't feel bad for him."

Her stomach was heaving slightly at the thought of what he was saying. This was complete madness –

"I think I'm going to be sick," she gasped.

"Head between your knees, love."

She bent over double in her chair, breathing heavy, gasping for enough air. Maybe she wasn't going to be sick, but she was certainly hyperventilating.

"This won't come back on you, Teresa. I promise." His softly-spoken promise might have made her feel better if she wasn't so obviously in shock.

Juice came back from the garage, dumping out the water in the sink. She didn't so much as look up until he spoke. "Teresa, is there any bleach?"

"Check by the washer and dryer in the garage," she mumbled.

"When's the van coming?" she could only hear Happy, staring at her knees as she was.

"Soon," was Juice's reply, and she could hear that he was heading back to the garage again.

"Jax is going to fucking lose it."

"I know."

She listened to Chibs light another cigarette once the others were back in the garage, door closed. She sat up with a deep breath.

"Do those help?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Cigarettes?"

"Yeah."

"They help _me_."

"Can I try one?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, then pushed the box and lighter towards her. "Don't blame me if you develop a habit."

She'd tried smoking in college, didn't like the taste it left in her mouth. But at that moment it was something to do with her hands, which were shaking as she lit the cigarette and inhaled.

"Who's Jax?" she asked after another pause.

"Club president."

"Are you in trouble?"

He laughed without humour at that. "Oh yes, yes I am."

As she was about to ask why the door burst open, and the blonde man she recognized from the shop flew into the house, striding forward like he was about to take someone's head off. She shrank in her seat to not be in his path.

Chibs was getting to his feet. "Jax -" he began but didn't get anywhere else.

Jax swung a fist, connecting with Chibs' jaw and taking the older man down to one knee. "Are you _that _fucking stupid?" he spat down on him, totally livid. "You're going to bring the Russian fucking mafia to town? For what?"

Chibs wiped his bleeding lip, looked up but didn't get to his feet. "He sent the ones that killed Tig."

"I know that. And if you'd just waited here like I asked maybe we could have worked something out. Maybe we could have _prevented _the rest of us getting fucking _killed._"

Chibs stood then, still not looking his president in the eye. "He wasn't here for us. He was going after Val."

"You couldn't just say 'good luck finding her?'"

Chibs became visibly angry at that. "You know what they do, right? She's on her own, she's going to have a baby!"

"And she _left_!" Jax finished for him. "She doesn't _want_ our protection, you stupid son of a bitch. Execution without a club vote is _not _fucking cool, Chibs. What the hell?" His blue eyes looked plenty fired up. "And she's _not _your old lady. Remember?"

Chibs' jaw clenched. Teresa watched this with disconnected fascination, cigarette between her fingers forgotten.

"I know that," the Scot said, voice low and hard enough to make her shiver.

"Do you? Because you're acting like that's _your _kid she's carrying."

She didn't know what happened next. Chibs had Jax by the front of his hoodie and propped him up to deliver one good, hard shot to the jaw.

Teresa shrieked, and it was enough to bring the other two men running.

Juice grabbed Chibs by both arms to pull him back and Happy got between them, forcing Jax back into the living room.

Juice spun Chibs away, and he stalked to the island, leaning on it, his hands pulling his hair back away from his face. Juice gave her a look, and she knew her eyes were wide and totally confused.

Juice held a hand up, indicating she needed to wait before asking _anything_. She was totally okay with that.

"Fuck!" Jax exclaimed loudly, shoving Happy off of him.

"Yeah, it was wrong," Happy admitted with authority. "But he was talking shit about what he was going to do when he found Val, Jax. _I _was ready to kill him for it. That's Tig's old lady. I would have done the same thing if he'd been talking about Tara."

Jax held up a finger. "Don't even go there."

Happy cast his eyes to the floor.

"Get rid of him and then get your asses back to the clubhouse. We need to decide what the fuck to do." Then Jax noticed _Teresa _for the first time, and his face just blanked. "Christ."

"She's okay," Juice said quickly. "She won't talk. She can keep a secret."

But Jax was now stalking towards her. She felt herself shrink back. "What did you see?"

She basically whimpered. "Nothing. He came in here, he had a gun on me. Juice shot him in the arm, I think. Then they took him to the garage. I-I didn't go in the garage. I swear it."

"What did you see?" he repeated, cold and calm.

She swallowed. "I didn't see anything." Her voice sounded surprisingly level that time.

"That's more like it." He spun away from her – pointing at Juice. "You're in charge of keeping her mouth shut."

He slammed the front door behind him.

After a stunned moment Juice made to move for the garage but Chibs stopped him. "Stay here, tend to your woman. I'll do this."

He and Happy vanished into the garage and after a moment Teresa heard the door opening. She turned to Juice, desperate for him to tell her what to do, what came next.

He was already on it, approaching her with arms wide, stopping to take the cigarette out of her hand and placing it on the saucer. "I'll be back as soon as we're done, okay?" He wrapped her up tightly in a hug. "You did real good, Teresa. I'm sorry this came to you but you did real good."

She nodded against his shirt. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Do you believe I'm not going to let anything hurt you?"

"Yes," she croaked softly.

He pulled away, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm coming back to eat supper. It looks good. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Stay here. Don't go anywhere." He reached behind him and placed his gun on the table. "Use that if you don't feel safe."

"Juice -"

"I'm pretty sure this idiot came here alone. But I want you to defend yourself if you have to."

She just stared at him.

"Teresa, he knew your name. Right?" She just nodded. "You apartment isn't any safer. Stay _here_."

"Okay," she finally agreed.

He kissed her quickly and was gone through the connecting door to the garage before she could say anything else like, "Be careful."

The garage door closed. The sound of bikes and a motor faded away. The gun sat on the table, holding all her attention and focus.

"Oh Val," she sobbed to the empty room. "What'd you get me into?"


	9. Chapter 9

Alone, the first thing she did was scrub the blood off the entryway wall. That seemed important to do. But now there were two fresh bullet holes in the plaster. Teresa sat at the table and smoked the remaining pack of cigarettes Chibs had left behind. There were only two more. There was also a hand-rolled one on the bottom that smelled entirely different. She knew it was pot. She stared at it for five minutes before deciding she was owed a momentary escape.

Teresa's mind was blissfully blank the whole time, and she knew that meant she wasn't ready to process current events yet, so this joint didn't really bother her. She was numb to the fact she was inhaling a controlled substance.

She had never been so aware that her world was a tiny, small particle of a big, scary picture. She had never seen anyone so much as _hit _another person. Juice had tossed Ethan out of her apartment. She'd seen Chibs man-handle a man on the street in a similar fashion once when she was out with Val. Yes, she'd been in the house when it was shot-up and Val got hurt, but something about bullets didn't seem quite so intimately violent. And none of it had been directed at _her _in all that time.

The closest anyone had even come to intimidating her was Happy the other day, and Trager the first time she'd met him. Now, looking back, she could see she hadn't expected either of them to actually hurt her. She found them _unpredictable_, but not meaning her harm.

This man that had come to the door _wanted _to hurt her. He would have been happy to do it. And if he'd had anything to do with Val being hurt or Tig being killed … well then, it was okay with her that he was dead.

The thought was shocking, but Teresa had seen Val go through a lot, and having Juice suggest that she didn't even have her boss's entire biography down made her feel even more sorry for Valerie. They'd murdered her parents? How old would she have been? How the hell was she as normal as she seemed to be?

_She's strong_, Teresa reminded herself. Someone somewhere along the way trained Valerie Turner to stand up for herself and not take bullshit. Not to count on someone else making everything right for her.

Teresa couldn't be that way. She'd never be tough enough to go off on her own, pregnant, obviously heartbroken, with Russian mobsters after her. Teresa would hide under her bed. Or behind Juice. To date her biggest _personal_ drama had been parking tickets.

The thought made her snort, and she covered her mouth. Then she realized she was alone so no one had heard it. Then_ that _thought made her laugh, and before she knew it she was laughing so hard her eyes were watering.

Holy shit. She was stoned.

And she was _starving_. She got up, opened the patio door, and started the barbecue. Then she returned to the mess of supper she'd left sitting out. Frying fish in this state could be a bad idea, but she was feeling reckless. She poured oil into a pan, set it on the side-element, and tossed the foil packages of vegetables on the grill. When she entered the house again it was just in time to see Juice coming through the front door. He started for her, then came to a dead stop next to the island.

"Why does it smell like pot in here?" he asked, dumbfounded.

It made her crack up. She was laughing so deeply her sides hurt.

He stared at her for a long moment, then came forward. "Teresa? Are you high?"

She remembered Happy telling her to _Just say no _and it re-triggered her funny bone. Juice looked to the table, saw the cigarettes, then shook his head, having to laugh along with her.

"Dammit Chibs," he muttered, taking her arms in his hands. "Teresa? You feeling okay?"

She shrugged. "I feel _fine. _I'm making supper, just like you said."

"Ah shit. I was hoping to talk to you. Seriously."

"Talk. I'm serious." She tried to keep her face straight, then started laughing again.

"Holy shit, you're completely toasted. How much was in there?"

"Just one joint. Sorry, it's all gone."

He shook his head, scrubbing his face with both hands. "It's fine. I'm good, thanks."

"You like fish, right?"

"Sure."

She poured herself another glass of wine, and on her first sip she couldn't believe how _good _it tasted. And how wet it felt in her mouth. And how good it felt to have cold, wet white wine on her tongue. The glass was gone in one gulp. So she poured another.

"Teresa," Juice said carefully, easing the bottle from her hand. "Ease up on that maybe."

"It tastes so good -"

"I bet," he interrupted. "But I bet water will taste and feel just as good."

"Really?"

Juice was chuckling along with her now, nodding. "Everything feels good in the state you're in. Water, soda, potato chips. Wine."

"Really?"

"You know what? Sit down. I'll finish supper. I know how to fry fish."

"There's vegetables on the grill, too."

"Okay."

She was going to sit at the table again, but instead she followed him outside, plopping down on the lounger and stretching her legs out in front of her. Actually, _stretching _felt amazing, too.

Why wasn't this shit legal?

Juice was watching her as the oil started snapping around the fillets. She turned her head to him and smiled. "I feel okay right now," she assured him. "I was terrified but right now I just don't care."

He laughed and shook his head.

"Jax was really mad at Chibs."

"It'll be okay," Juice assured her. "Chibs just got a bit carried away."

"Did he beat that man to death? With his _hands_?"

Juice opened the cover, flipping the foil packets over with tongs. "Hands can only take so much. But concrete doesn't give a lot when you repeatedly hit something against it."

Teresa thought on that for a moment. "He must have been angry. Chibs isn't even scary, really."

"Well, he _was _angry," Juice conceded. "But you're right. He's no danger to you. Trust me."

"I know that," she replied with plenty of sass.

He sat on the lounger next to her legs, leaning one arm across her, smiling down at her. "You do, huh? How do you know that?"

She sat up, leaning closer to him. "Because he has kind eyes."

Juice laughed. "What?"

"His eyes. They're very … _kind_. The rest of him is badass biker but his eyes tell you that's not all he is. And there's the way he talks about Val. I can't be scared of him. He's in love with Val. How can someone like that be scary?"

Juice backed off her a bit. "What are you talking about?"

She tried to remember what she'd just said. "When?"

Juice shook his head, smiling again. "Never mind. Stoner."

"Chibs!" she remembered. "That's what I was talking about."

"I don't think any of this needs to be repeated," Juice assured her.

Teresa tilted her head. "You can't see it?"

"What?"

"Boys are not very in tune with this kind of thing."

"Teresa," Juice said carefully. "Don't repeat any of this, okay? You're running off at the mouth."

"Poor Chibs. I wonder when he started liking her."

"Teresa -"

"And now he feels guilty because Tig's not here and he still wants her, she's available but …" Teresa blinked at the stunned look on Juice's face. "You don't believe any of this?"

"No. Val's Tig's old lady. She's off limits."

"Not anymore," Teresa said quietly. "If they find each other again … I wonder if Val would be able to love him back."

Juice got to his feet quickly and she reached for his hand, missing.

"I'm just flipping the fish," he assured her, but his voice sounded weird.

"You know I'm right, Juice. Look what he did tonight to protect Val. It was exactly what Tig would have done, wasn't it? It wasn't _only_ because that man had people come here and Tig died because of it."

"That's plenty of reason to do what he did," Juice said. "And keep your voice down."

"Sorry," she whispered. "But you know I'm right. I can tell."

"Keep your fairy tales to yourself."

Teresa was staring up at the dimming sky, the first of the stars visible through the dying daylight. "His hands weren't even shaking," she mused. "He knew he did the right thing."

Juice didn't say anything.

"If they wanted to hurt _me, _would you have done the same thing?"

Again, it was quiet. She turned her head to the side, catching Juice in profile as he turned his head to talk to her over his shoulder. "Yeah," he said seriously. "I would."

His answer made her feel warm. She got to her feet, lightheaded, and crossed the patio on bare feet to hug him from behind. He held her hands under his where they crossed on his stomach.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

Juice sighed, turned in her arms and hugged her to his chest. "I won't let anything hurt you, Teresa. I promise it."

His hand rubbing her back felt infinitely amazing. It was like he'd never touched her before. "Man, this stuff makes everything feel so good." Juice chuckled and she heard it through his chest wall. She raised her head. "Sex on this stuff must be amazing."

He paused a moment, eyes flicking over her face before he laughed. "Yeah, it is."

She tried to kiss him but he avoided her mouth. "Teresa, wait."

She lowered back flat-footed on the deck boards. "What?"

"You are so far gone, Teresa."

"So what? I like having sex with you. This shit isn't changing my tastes or anything."

Juice put a hand to each side of her head, playing with her hair. Jesus, even _that _felt great. "Next time. Next time we'll get high _together_. Okay?"

She sighed. "Fine."

"Now go set the table. And try not to stare at the silverware too long."

…

She was sleeping on her side. The room was bright, flooded with light. And someone was kissing her shoulder.

Teresa smiled as she opened her eyes, moaning as she rolled over. Juice had his mouth on hers immediately, and she let his tongue in without a second thought. They were naked, but she couldn't remember taking her clothes off. His skin was warm, soft and smooth, and the way the muscles of his back bunched up under her hands made her nails dig in.

His hands on her breasts were eager, insistent. They would not be denied. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, arching her back, making her cry out again his mouth. He swallowed the sound, kissing her deeper.

Teresa let her hands stray lower, finding him hard and ready. At her touch he gasped, parting their mouths to smile at her.

"Oh, you _are _awake," he teased, dropping a hand down between her legs. At that touch she had to close her eyes, holding her breath. "Not quite ready yet, though."

"I will be," she promised on a whisper, making him chuckle.

"I want to go down on you," he muttered against her neck. "I want to make you come against my mouth."

Teresa had never gone in for talking dirty. But she'd also never had a completely consuming physical reaction to anyone before either, and everything he said to her was as much a turn on as what his fingers were doing.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. "Okay," she gasped, eyes still squeezed shut.

"Okay what?"

"Do it."

"Do what Teresa?"

She licked her lips. "Go down on me."

"And what?"

She twitched, his hands so deftly working her past the point of rational thought.

"And _what_, Teresa?"

"Make me come," she gasped softly, opening her eyes.

"How?"

"With your tongue."

He smiled wickedly, then scooted down under the sheets, hooking her legs over his shoulders and didn't waste another second.

She immediately began mewing, loving what his mouth did to her. When he buried his fingers inside she nearly broke her back, the orgasm surprising her as much as that invasion had. When she'd finished quaking he crawled back up her again, kissing her once more and whispering with a hoarse voice, "Was that okay?"

She could only nod, which earned her another chuckle as he reached for the condom next to the bed. Teresa realized her head was pounding slightly from the wine the night before, but when he penetrated her with one fluid and smooth motion she immediately forgot about it again. He made love to her gently this time, his mouth spending most of its time against hers, hands caressing new parts of her that she didn't even know could arouse her. Although she was beginning to realize Juice could likely poke her in the elbow and she'd be all warm and fuzzy.

It was a weekday, and yet she'd woken up not at all worried about what time it was nor was she wondering if she'd slept in. She didn't care. Good God, she couldn't care less.

Juice rose up on his arms and pulled out, making her groan in frustration. He laughed, kissed her mouth quickly, then said, "Turn over."

She met his eyes, colour rising in her cheeks. "What?"

"Teresa, turn over. Please?"

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't laugh at her. He brought his face lower. "Are you telling me what we did in the garage was the only time you didn't do it missionary?"

She tried not to stutter. And failed. "I … I-I mean … well …"

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Or surprise you with something you might not like."

She met his eyes finally, knowing she was blushing furiously. "But I _will _like this?"

Now he _did _laugh. "Did you like it in the garage?" She covered her face with both hands, and he laughed, forcing her hands down. "I'll do my best. Promise."

He let her roll onto her stomach, then lowered his weight to her back, kissing her shoulders then the back of her neck. Well _that _was certainly pleasant. "Hug the pillow," he suggested. "You might be more comfortable."

She bunched it up in her arms, allowing his hands to draw her hips upwards. On instinct she was about to rise up on her arms but his hand stayed between her shoulder blades. "No, stay like that."

His voice was breathy and it made her quiver, closing her eyes. He ran his hands from her back, up her sides to her hips, and she instinctively arched her back. "Christ, Teresa. You look gorgeous like this."

Her flush increased in temperature, but he couldn't see it so she didn't care. She was panting through parted lips, nervous yet thrilled to find out what he was about to do to her. His hands clenched her hips and it made her gasp, then he was inside, the angle different, and she felt her eyes widen.

"Oh, Juice," she moaned, and he paused for a moment.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she gasped desperately. "That's good. Juice, that's so good."

"Good," he growled, then he was pulling out and thrusting not fast, just … at a perfect pace. She buried her face in the pillow, her cries becoming louder as he worked her closer and closer to orgasm, and when she came it was hard, fast, and he didn't let up, moving through hers. When her cries died out he thrust into her so deep she felt it hit the end of her, dropping her mouth open as he grunted and seized, fingers biting into her hips in a fantastically painful way.

It felt so wanton and desperate, she knew she'd never forget it. And that she'd want it like that again, many times over.

He parted their bodies carefully, reengaging tremors inside of her, and instead of making noise she just bit her lip, then collapsed onto her side. He leaned over to kiss her before heading out to the hallway to use the bathroom.

She smiled to herself, staring at the ceiling, then feeling something like regret at the events of the previous evening washed over her.

It was prompted by the fact that she was waking up in Valerie's guest room. And that she could smell bleach as soon as Juice had opened the bedroom door.

The nervousness returned to her stomach, a tight, clenching anxiety. Not that a horrible man had been killed the night before, just that people were after Valerie. And Teresa was the one _here_ with her name on the bad guy's list.

She knew Juice promised to protect her but … she was scared. Even with the terrifying Tig Trager looking out for her Valerie still got shot.

She rolled over, grabbing Juice's wristwatch off the table. She had to be at work in forty minutes. Partly satisfied and partly exhausted, Teresa groaned and stretched, remembering her rule about no sex weekday mornings.

So much for sticking to her guns.

"Teresa, babe? You getting up or should we call in fucking?"

"Juice!"

He laughed, slapping her ass as she darted around him to the shower. She'd clean up here then change clothes at her apartment. Not really a walk of shame, but as close as Teresa had ever come to one. She showered quickly, then ran out of the bathroom pulling on her clothes.

"I've got to run home and change. Dammit, I'm going to be late again."

"Let's take my bike," he suggested. "I'll get you there on time."

"No."

"Teresa, eventually I'm getting you on the back of my bike. Why fight it?"

"I'm scared of those things, Juice."

"Again, you've never been on one. I know what I'm doing. And I mean it; you'll like it."

Teresa sighed. "You're so frustrating."

"Is that a yes?" He was so excited he was basically bouncing from foot to foot.

She had to laugh, covering her face. "I'm in a skirt."

"No problem. It's a … big skirt. You'll be fine. And don't worry about your legs – whatever you show will be appreciated."

"Juice!"

"Let's go. Val's got a helmet."

It was one thing to climb on the bike behind him, wrapping her arms around him and realizing that her own strength was keeping her on that contraption. When he started the engine, she yelped. Jesus, that thing was so loud. But the rumble was … kind of thrilling as well.

He took off down the sleepy lane, and she squeezed him so tight she eventually worried whether or not he could breathe. On the corners he terrified her, and she actually shut her eyes until she felt the bike right itself again.

Juice was really good at this, she realized, the thought bringing a smile to her pinched face. He handled this thing like an expert, and the closer they got to her apartment the more she relaxed. When they stopped she was breathless, thrilled and grinning as she handed him Val's helmet. He was smiling at her, too.

"So? Verdict?" he asked as he helped her off the seat.

"That was … _fun_," she admitted.

His grin broadened, which almost seemed impossible. "Good."

"Kinda … makes me want to learn to ride one actually."

The grin faltered just a little. "What? Really?"

"Yeah. Val could ride, right?"

Juice looked confused. "No, you just want to ride with me, right?"

Teresa laughed then realized he was serious. "You don't want me to learn to ride?"

He shrugged. "I really only wanted you to ride with _me_."

Teresa tilted her head, smiling up at him, running her hands up his chest. "I promise then. I'll only ride with you."

Juice made a face. "Well, now I feel like an asshole."

"Don't worry. It's fine."

He sighed. "Okay, I'll show you how to ride. Sorry. Usually the girls just want to ride with _us_, that's all."

Teresa bit her lip. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

He smiled so she took his hand and led him to the building's entrance, let herself in with her key, then made her way up the stairs. When she got to her hallway and the door came into view, she paused. It was open. She could see the daylight coming through into the hallway.

Juice noticed it, too. He held her back by grabbing her arm. "Wait here," he whispered, reaching into his waistband. Jesus, he was carrying his gun again? Did he _always _have it?

She waited in the hall, hating the way her stomach twisted when she was nervous. It had been somewhat twisted since early last evening, come to think of it.

There was shouting, a scuffle, and something broke. The there was another shout, another scuffle, then Juice calling for her. She darted for the doorway, her brain taking an extra second to catch up.

"Ethan? What the hell?"

Her former _date _was on the floor, arm behind his back, Juice pinning him in place with one knee.

Ethan looked up at her, his face was a mixture of pain and embarrassment. "Teresa," he greeted her, sounding sheepish.

"What are you doing here?"

Ethan just stared at the area rug under his cheek.

Juice lifted his head by the hair, snarling "She's asking you a question." Then he shoved Ethan's head back down against the carpet again.

"I told you. I need cash. I came here last night, you never came home, I just needed to borrow some cash."

"Why?"

That's when Teresa realized then she'd never told Juice this part. "He got himself cleaned out in an illegal poker game."

Juice's head came up to her. "What?"

Teresa nodded. "That's why he was here before. Thought I was sitting on a hill of savings because I bought a house."

Juice leaned over Ethan's shoulder. "Where's this poker game?"

"Lodi," Ethan snivelled. "But it moves around."

"Who told you about it?"

"My boss."

"Who ran it?" Ethan didn't answer and Juice pushed down on his head harder. "Who ran the game?"

"I didn't know their names. They weren't American."

"Were they Ukrainian?"

"Coulda been. Sounded … Russian to me."

Juice looked up at her next. "Is he going to talk?"

"Only if these Ukrainians get hold of him. He's a pussy." Her own words surprised her, but Juice just nodded.

"You don't say anything to anyone. How much do you owe them?"

"Twelve thousand."

"Holy shit," she whispered.

"Sell your blood. Sell your kidney. Get on a payment plan with them. I promise these people will make you miserable. But if you say anything about this I will find you."

"You're letting me go?"

Juice smiled up at Teresa. "I will if you do me one last favour."


	10. Chapter 10

Teresa was still confused as they reached Teller-Morrow. "I don't get it. Why would it matter to Ukrainian gamblers that this Russian guy Chibs killed was asking about the poker game?"

Juice offered his hand, helping her climb off the bike. "It helps because it means the Ukrainians at some point spoke to a guy that just went _missing_, Teresa. So when his Russian family comes asking, they have as much reason to talk to the Ukrainians as anyone else."

Teresa's head was spinning, but she felt sluggish. The headache from the bottle of wine she nearly finished off on her own was gone, but she was getting the feeling that marijuana made a person lethargic.

"Trust me. It can only help. We just have to insist that we never saw him."

She frowned. "Did he have a car in front of the house?"

"The guys towed it while you were in the shower this morning. We can hide it, plant it wherever we want."

Teresa took a deep breath, chest feeling tight. "I don't know. This doesn't feel very believable."

"Let's go tell Jax. He'll know what to do next. Come on."

Juice led her towards the clubhouse, and once again she was immersed in the stench of stale beer and body odour, among other things.

"Jax!" Juice was shouting, and on the second call the blonde man came around the corner from a hallway she hadn't seen during the memorial.

"What's up Juice?" He civilly acknowledged Teresa with a head nod, which she returned.

"The Ukrainians are still running illegal poker games around Lodi. Teresa's old boyfriend is into them for a few grand. He says the games move around. I told him to put the word out that a scary-looking Russian fucker was looking to talk to them."

Jax frowned, then smiled. "Is that right?"

"So, how do we make it stick a bit more?"

Jax frowned. "The game was in Lodi?"

"Yeah. But he said they moved around."

Jax shrugged. "I guess my first question is whether or not the Mayans know about this game being in their yard. I'm going to guess _no._"

Juice's smile broadened. "Excellent."

"I'll call Alvarez. Tell him a scary-looking Russian fucker wanted to play a hand."

"Sounds good," Juice said, arms out like it was all taking care of itself.

"In the meantime, get to work."

Juice bobbed his head in accord, taking Teresa by the arm and leading her back into the sunshine.

"Juice, I have no idea what's going on."

He stopped, turning her to face him. "Do you want to know everything?"

Teresa searched his face, trusting that if she said yes he would tell her everything. "No," she said softly. "The less I know, the happier I'll be."

He nodded, kissing her forehead. "Okay. Go on, get to work. You heard Jax."

She smiled. "Okay." He kissed her on the lips again, then she turned for the office and let herself into her new sanctuary.

It even smelled better already. She put a pot of strong coffee on, fired up her computer, and started organizing the keys and work orders. The door opened from the garage and Happy strode in, noticed the coffee wasn't ready, actually _snarled _at the machine, then noticed her.

His eyes made her feel cold all over. Even though he'd helped her the night before she was still found herself incredibly uncomfortable around him.

"Hey Blondie," he said, more to get her attention that greet her.

"Yes?" she asked, trying not to sound acidic.

"You did good last night." Then he was gone.

She could have been knocked over by a feather. Immediately Bobby came in and they were planning the work flow for the day, him filling Teresa in on how long shipments took for parts, reaffirming how she'd allotted for time on each job for the day. He assured her she'd done a great job, and Teresa was feeling pretty damn proud of herself.

She turned the phones on, began taking calls and booking appointments. It was a hell of a lot busier than Valerie's practice had been, and the hours were longer. But it sure made lunch time arrive faster. She was bloody starving again.

"Knock knock," said a friendly voice from the door. She turned from the white board, smiling and capping her marker.

"Hiya handsome," she greeted Juice, liking watching him walk to her, arms swinging, his eyes running up her legs to her face.

"Hey, new girl. You hungry?"

She nodded. "Starving."

"I sent Phil out for sandwiches. Wanna sit in the sun and have lunch with me?"

Teresa pretended to consider it. "Well, I have had a few other offers -"

"Really?" he barked out, suddenly all tough-guy machismo.

"Yeah," she answered, innocent as you please. "I think new girls are popular around here."

Juice grabbed her hips, making her breath hitch in her throat. "You only have lunch with me." He was trying to sound tough, but his eyes couldn't stop twinkling at the same time. He was seconds from bursting into laughter.

"You're kinda possessive. Why?"

"Because I know what I like." With that he kissed her roughly, holding her tight, mouth and hands laying claim to her.

It was another thrill, having someone so aggressively wanting her. But if she asked him to back off she completely trusted that he would.

"Jesus, you two. If you're going to do that at least take her to the clubhouse, Juice."

They sprung apart as Bobby came back, pulling his reading glasses on. He eyed up a work order, then dropped it neatly in her new inbox. He offered them a cheerful smile and left again.

She giggled into his T-shirt, feeling him laughing too.

"Come on," he said with usual Juice lightness. "You missed breakfast."

"I didn't _miss _it," she replied slyly, loving that it made him laugh.

…

Teresa put the final work orders for the next morning in place, sighing and yawning. It was well past five. Hell, it was nearly seven at night. She couldn't be bothered to worry about working overtime; not with Juice spending the extra hour with her in the office.

He was at her computer, holding his head up, chin in hand. "What are you doing?" she asked, making her way around her desk.

He held a hand out toward her without moving his attention off the screen. She took it and he reeled her into his lap. She put her arm around his shoulders, watching the pictures on the screen. "What are these from?" she asked, resting her head on his.

"Happy's birthday party," he said absently. "Phil was taking pictures. I'm making sure the incriminating shots are deleted."

Teresa watched the evening fly back in still frames, recognizing a face here and there. Most people she didn't know and was thankful for it. There were a few of women like the ones she'd overheard in the clubhouse after Trager's funeral flashing their breasts, which made Juice laugh out loud. She pinched his ear until he advanced to the next image.

There were also shots of a boxing match, and Teresa's gut tightened just as she felt Juice stiffen as well. It was Happy and Tig, slugging it out. Four photos, the final one two bloodied and smiling friends hugging. Juice left that one there for a long time and Teresa felt tears gather out of nowhere.

"This is the night it happened," Juice said hollowly. "I was hoping he was in here somewhere. They didn't stay for long that night."

Teresa rubbed a hand over his head, staring at that shot for a long time with him. With a cough he clicked the mouse, went through a few shots of Happy being declared the winner by a busty blonde with very high heels.

There were a few more of women smiling and posing for the camera, then another shot that froze Juice in place and made Teresa actually gasp out a sob. "Oh my God, Juice."

On the screen, perfectly framed, exposure perfect like it had been taken by a professional photographer, a photo that made her heart stop. The background was out of focus, the eye solely drawn to a man with a bloody nose, bleeding lip and eyebrow, bright eyes and wild black hair, trying to steal a kiss from a green-eyed woman who was laughing, mouth wide open, trying not to get blood on her, wearing a knock-out party dress. He was laughing too, as though he knew he was getting that kiss no matter what.

Her hand tightened on the back of Juice's neck, a tear escaping. "I love this picture."

She felt Juice kiss her cheek. "Me, too." She shared a look with him, and he smiled. "When I really get you laughing, you kinda look like Val here."

She frowned, looking back to him, his dark brown eyes watery too. Her lip quivered. "That's not a smile because something's funny. That's because she's happy."

He nodded. "I want to make you happy like that. I know it hasn't been long, and I know it seems soon … but if someone accidentally takes our picture, I'd really like it to look something like this."

She looked back to the screen, wiping her eyes and laughing. "He doesn't even look scary."

"Nah, not around her. But God help anyone that _thought _about hurting her."

She shook her head. "He looks so happy."

"I'm going to tell you something but then you have to forget you heard it. Okay?"

She looked back to him. "Are you sure?"

"It might make you feel better about her being out there by herself."

"Okay."

"Tig and Chibs found the guys that broke in and … hurt her."

"The ones that raped her?"

"Yeah. They got three of them first. One got shot when he almost got away. The other two, Chibs wanted to shoot them and dump them. But Tig said no. He said Val wanted to do it."

She frowned. "What?"

"Valerie shot them both in the head. Cold as ice. Chibs and Tig just watched, then burned the crime scene down."

She thought back. "Those headless bodies they found in that cabin?"

"Yeah. That was them. The fourth guy found the bodies, took their heads and fucked around with us a bit, but the point is … she did them in. And Tig got rid of the fourth guy for her, so there's no need to worry about him anymore. And just remember how she killed those guys this night." He jabbed a finger at the screen. "And there was a shoot-out at the clubhouse with these Russian bastards, and her, Chibs and Rat took out, like, ten mobsters."

She looked back at the image of her former boss, in the arms of her man, trying to avoid a kiss but holding his arms tightly, leaning back while clearly not pushing him away, either. "Val did all that?"

"That's why I know she's okay, Teresa. She'll be okay with losing Tig, she'll be okay being a mom on her own. And if they find her again, she'll find a way out of that, too."

Teresa ran her hand over his head, having a hard time believing him.

"I know you feel like that house is cursed or haunted or something. I don't get that at all. Maybe it's because the first time I was alone there with you ended up being pretty … _fun_," he teased, and she knew she blushed. "You didn't see these two _together, _ were a hell of a pair. They complimented each other. She made it okay for him to be vulnerable, and he made it okay for her to be tough and angry."

Teresa smiled. "I can't imagine it, but I'll believe you."

"That's what I feel when I'm there. I don't feel haunted by bad guys and dead people. It's haunted by … whatever _that _was," he said almost absently, pointing at the screen again.

"That's incredibly sweet, Juice."

"This is a hard life. And I'm sorry you've had to see as much as you've seen. But we still kind of want the same things as everyone else. A place to belong. A job to occupy our time. Money to live on. Fun. Respect. Purpose. And _that_." He jerked his chin at the screen.

After a quiet moment of watching his profile as he studied the picture, she kissed his head. "It's late. Let's go to my place."

He smiled, wrapping both arms around her waist. "Your apartment or Val's?"

She considered it for half a second. "Val's."

…

_**Seven Months Later …**_

"Holy shit. Holyshitholyshitholyshit. Teresa! C'mere!"

She stopped in the middle of making supper, putting down her chopping knife and rinsing the onion off her hands. "Just a sec!"

She darted down the hall to the spare bedroom where she'd set up a desk for a home office of sorts. Juice had set up a desktop for her shortly after she'd moved into Val's place for good.

She was currently in the process of having Val's home office cordoned off and made into a rental suite. She'd applied for zoning and was waiting for the utility companies to come by, hence the home office here in the spare room.

Juice was online at the moment, and when she entered the room she was somewhat exasperated. "What? Supper's almost ready."

Oh yeah, and a month before Juice had moved in with her as well.

"Sorry. But look."

She leaned down, draping her arms around his shoulders. "What are you looking at?"

He put his hand on hers, giving a squeeze. "Look who just joined the British Columbia Psychological Association."

She squinted at the print on the screen, then felt herself smile. "Wow."

"That's in Canada," he informed her.

She kissed his cheek. "Yes, I _know _that's in Canada. Thank you."

"It's got an address for her."

"Online? Is she nuts?"

"Not entirely. It's a PO Box, which means there's no house delivery. Kitimat. I'll have to look that up."

"Won't this make her easier to find? She's using the same name."

"Probably so her education transfers. A whole new identity means a new diploma."

Teresa still had a bad feeling in her gut. "But those Russians are still looking for her."

"They've got their own problems right now, trust me. The CIA is looking into them for selling weapons to known terrorist groups, and in Canada they're being watched on human trafficking allegations. I don't know if it's worth it to them to go after her right now."

"Still doesn't make me feel any better."

"I gotta tell Chibs," Juice muttered, not hearing her. He grabbed his cell phone off the desk.

Teresa put her hand on his arm, stilling him for a moment. "Juice."

"What?"

"Maybe wait on that."

He frowned at her over his shoulder. "Why?"

Teresa sat on the foot of the bed. "I know you don't believe me about Chibs and Valerie -"

"Not this again," he mumbled.

"Hey, I listen to you when you give _your _opinion. The least you can do is pretend to respect mine."

He stared at her for a second, then grinned. "You are so fucking hot when you give me shit."

"I'm being serious. I know Chibs is worried about her, and I'm half ready to pack up the car and go see her right now, too. But it's only been, what? Six, seven months? For all we know she's in labour _right now_. She's done this," Teresa said, motioning to the website. "It looks like she has a home. She's starting up again."

"I know."

"I don't want to send him up there yet."

Juice looked puzzled. "What? Why?"

"What if I'm right? What if Chibs has real, authentic feelings for her? Juice, she's not ready. There's no way she's ready yet. Give her time. Let's wait until we can assume she's had the baby and she's been settled in one place for a while. _Then _let him go to her."

Juice didn't look like he was following her any closer. "Why? What does that do?"

She gave him _a look_. "Honest to Christ, you're adorable but thick as a post."

He looked offended. "I'm a guy. Explain this to me, please."

"Wouldn't it be great if Val maybe, sorta had the same feelings for _him_? Or at the very least, was in a place where she'd appreciate his friendship more?"

Juice laughed. "You want me to wing-man Chibs with Val by _not _telling him we found her?"

She thought on that. "Basically, yeah."

"He'll kill me if he finds out I sat on this."

Teresa sighed, staring at her hands.

"And …" Juice went on, sounding begrudging. "He's been miserable lately. Maybe he'll feel better knowing where she is."

Teresa looked up, surprised. "So you _do _see it."

"I don't see anything."

The past few months Juice had tried to teach her to ride Valerie's motorcycle, but he kept pissing her off by telling her she's too "cute" to pull it off. She had enough and asked Chibs to teach her. He'd agreed, to her surprise, and Teresa thought he did it more to bug Juice than actually help _her_. But he was a good teacher and she was now legal to ride a motorcycle in the state of California.

Spending that much time with the Scot meant Teresa got to know him better as well, and she knew the bond between him and Juice was an important one as far as the club went. Because of that, Teresa tried to involve Chibs in things as much as possible. At least once a week he came over for supper, for example, just like he was that very evening. To Teresa he seemed so lonesome it hurt.

So Juice insisting she was crazy for having this notion really got to her on most levels. There was _no way_ he could miss the signs that Chibs was _worried_ worried about Val.

Then she remembered the promise she'd made Chibs months ago, that she'd tell him if she heard where Val was and he'd tell _her _if he found out first.

"Will you let _me _tell him?" she asked.

"What? Why?"

"I mean it, Juice. I don't _want _him charging up there to see her right away. If there's something there that could turn into something … I don't know, really _good_, I don't want to wreck it just because someone gets overeager."

"So you have a special way to tell him?"

She shrugged. "I'll tell him like a _girl_, not some caveman biker."

Juice tilted his head and set his jaw. "Is that nice?"

"No. Cavemen never rode motorcycles, I know."

That brought out a high-wattage grin and in one quick move he tackled her, taking her down on the mattress and covering her with his body. His warm, hard and incredibly pleasant body.

"Juice!" She shrieked before he kissed her.

"Sorry, there's no talking. The caveman wants sex, right now."

"I'm making supper."

"When we're done, woman."

"Chibs will be here in ten minutes." She was giggling wildly as his hands plunged under her shirt, searching for bare skin. "I mean it!" She didn't sound like she meant it at all, but when the doorbell rang Juice cursed, his mouth kissing her stomach one last time before letting her up.

"Okay," he conceded. "You tell him in your special lady-way. But tell him tonight or I'll tell him tomorrow at the garage."

"Okay," she agreed, kissing his cheek then darting down the hall to let their guest in.

Teresa told him while they were finishing dessert. The coffee maker was puffing away, Juice was loading the dishwasher with the dinner plates, and Teresa took a deep breath and let it fly.

"We found Val. She's in Canada, British Columbia."

Chibs was staring right at Teresa while she said it, so she caught his entire reaction. So much so she felt totally vindicated in her _wild _hypothesis. In an instant she would swear she saw surprise and plenty of relief before he got himself back under control.

He cleared his throat. "That's good."

She shared a look with Juice. "We were discussing how she's probably about to _have _the baby or she just _did_. Assuming everything went okay."

Chib's face tightened for just a second. "Why? Why would you think something would go wrong with the baby?"

Shit. She had no idea that comment would worry him so much. "It happens, Chibs. Plenty of women miscarry. It's not usually talked about, that's all."

"Oh." His body relaxed again as he shrugged.

"We're worried about her. And we know the club would likely want to check on her. But I was hoping to ask you a favour."

"What is it?"

"Can you keep this just between the three of us for a few more months?"

He titled his head. "Why?"

"It's for Val more than anyone else. I was thinking it'd be better to let her settle, establish, then try to get hold of her. Just so she doesn't feel like she's being … _chased_, you know? I don't want to scare her back off the grid again."

Chibs was staring at her, and she felt like an exhibit in a zoo. She tried not to give anything away, but she probably did.

"I'll leave it with you two," he agreed. "But Juice, _I'm _the one that tells Jax, understand?"

Juice was standing behind Chibs, who had addressed him by speaking over his shoulder. But Juice was nodding anyway. "Absolutely. You're right."

Chibs turned his attention back to Teresa, and he had the slightest smile flirting with his mouth. "You're almost too clever for your own good," he muttered.

Teresa swallowed, not triumphant with this slight acknowledgement she was a little bit right. It made her sad, actually. She liked Chibs, she was very fond of him. She hoped that when they met again Valerie might be in a place to give the guy a chance.

As Teresa smiled up at Juice, it hit her she was probably the world's biggest sucker for a happy ending.

* * *

**Thank you for following and "favouriting" this fluffy little dalliance. **

**Stay tuned for a third instalment, coming soon! I think you're going to like it.**


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